The warrior grieved for the loss of his life;
for surely the situation appeared to be most dreadful.
In lieu of honour, denied glory and legacy;
his was a need that few would have predicted.
Like the discontents of the past he had silently marched;
onwards in mass toward surely a just resolution.
Strange and unfathomable the cosmos must be;
since patently he finds his wrecked body not on battlefield…
…but crouched in a concrete-frozen old well.
There seems no exit from this hellish nightmare;
calls for help go unanswered into the night.
His thoughts stray to how this came about;
yet memories seem to have abandoned him to his misery.
Perhaps some would give up, he has not the choice;
for in the darkness he can hear his fellows movements.
The never-ending march is underway and he is to be left behind;
do none miss his presence, his stoic bearing, his being?...
…or are they in ecstasy to this event, gleeful in their delight?
His dwelling that night made resolute, the quietude hardened resolve;
unique solitary, within the masses, has brought his clarity of thought about…
…as slowly upwards the lone warrior climbs once more.
No comments:
Post a Comment