Weary Warrior
I bravely gird myself again
to do battle
at morning’s first light
Unsheathing my sword
to take the field alone
for I have no allies
A warrior weary of the fight
my armor dented and rusted
having long ago lost its lustre
I will gain no ground
There will be no conquest
no prize
no golden crown or throne to win
Victory is what it has always been
since the moment of my birth
Surviving another day to stand
despite my many wounds
my blood like claret
from a broken bottle
dripping in the dirt
where every flower I’ve
ever planted in my life
has been trampled
before they could bloom
by the enemy rushing upon me
determined to strike a blow
from which I will not rise
No one will tell tales
of my glorious deeds
long after I am dead
When the day is done
I’ll lay this battered body down
to rest in an empty bed
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