To These Sad Men

Three men head westward, towards the dusk's cool glare, Together, yet alone. Their legs more worn than their clothes. Their heads more worn than their legs. Their journey over, Their mission done, Yet they travel on, Carrying swords, giving their eyes no rest. Pain and regret they know all too well... Both of which are buried in the ice of their frozen souls. Their weakness obscured under the shadow of their swords. Their aura sour and sorrowful. Flowers wilt in fear, Even the ants bow their heads. They hide their starvation under heavy overcoats. Their strength ever so obvious, Their collapsing souls ever so hidden. To these sad men, I say: Lift yourself from the well of despair! Put down your swords, and sleep; God's soldiers have prepared your bed. You have strained yourself like straw ropes; Straw ropes rubbing against burning coals. Let your hatred melt away. Reheat your soul in God's warmth. Your sins of incompetence have been repaid...overcompensated for like a debt repaid in blocks of sapphire! Rest now. Embrace your nostalgic dreams; The dreams you once lost! Comfort your weeping friends; The friends you once lost! They weep for your scars, not your mistakes! Do not exile them to the pit of despair, as you have. Let them see your smile one final time; Do not let the earthly blunders of yesterday steal your chance of entering Heaven; You are mortal; failure, even more so! Rest now! Your time of rest is long overdue.