There he stood – The Fighter, The Warrior,
Bare, with his armor broken,
a silhouette of the dreams of the King and the Queen;
scaling the mountain highway of the hell that had been.
There he fell – The Fighter, The Warrior,
Glistening and shining – majestic scarlet on the head,
a heart of sandstone – flaunting his acidic erosion of the will,
trailing the mountain highway of the hell sans a skill.
As the moon took charge to light their skins,
and the dogs had fun like hyenas akin.
The lonely warrior battled his fallen kin,
made his way atop the graves of their sin.
It was his stairway to heaven,
he went home to glory.
He preferred the serene woods,
stayed away from words of his victory story.
He was the warrior, He was the knight,
with his determination and grit, he had survived that night!
His countrymen’s fascination with victory became his plight.
Glorified scars became his weed,
as he reaped the fruits of his victory seed.