The Dead Army

The chill of the night,
Starts to ignite;
When i stop to take,  
One deep, exhausted breath;
 
From running so long,  
My pulse keeps going strong;
Its almost as if the whole world,
Moves to the frantic quivers of my heart; 
 
Again I start to run,
Because with one glance back;
I saw an army of the dead,
Slowly dragging themselves toward me for attack;
 
My limbs start to give,  
And so does my heart;
When i approach a familiar body,
That rips me apart;
 
I run to it and listen,
But the familiar glisten; 
Of my once true loves eye,
Forces me to go back in time;
 
I go to a place,
Where he is not there on the ground; 
Where he is not dead but alive,
And where he takes his hand in mine;
 
A deep moan brings me back,  
To reality and to life;
I shut my eyes when i realize,
The moan came from the dead man at my side;
 
He starts to rise,
And so do I;
Then in fear of what may happen next,
I run away with a new quest;
 
After what seems like miles,
I start to tire;
My muscles protest,
With every motion;
 
What scares me the most,
About the dead;
Is that when i stop for a rest,
They keep going and get ahead;  
 
Every time I fall,  
They get closer;
Every time I reach a dead end, 
They get much more closer;
And then when i stop to take a breath,
They reach me and all I can do is wait for death;
 
So my choices are limited,
I cannot run;
I must stay to fight and punish them,
For all that they have done;
 
I have a couple weapons,  
I came prepared;  
I new this day was coming,
I could taste the despair;
 
As i turn and face the army of dead,
I freeze as my heart skips a beat;
Because the one leading them, which fills me with dread,
Is not only now one of them, but the man that was just at my feet;
 
I stare at him and take in his new look:
 
Black holes for eyes,
A circle shaped mouth, moaning for me to die;
And arms in the air reaching for me, 
But as if i am some piece of meat;
 
Then after that sight,
I charge at him with all my might; 
Machete raised, eyes focused, 
And i decapitate him with a smile;
 
Then i look at the rest if them,
There has to be sixty;
But with my machete raised,
I am ready;
 
At one moment in that fight,
I thought of giving up; 
But then i realized that that is a sign of weakness,
And its strength that i lust; 
 
So now in the end,
I have a few questions to ask;
Is it called murder when you kill the dead?
And is it possible for them to rise again?