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The Warrior

The ancient one;
The arcane one.
The immortal being;
The warrior.

One by one they stack the logs,
Handful by handful they lay the straw:
Unerring food for the voracious flame,
Vicious crimson tongues lapping at the form
As a panting deer desperate for water
After an unbearably long chase,
The fuel burning,
Burning for the past,
Burning for the living,
Burning for the warrior.

Regal is the face of the warrior,
Set in unconquerable stone for ages to come:
Set in rock for those who remember.
His dying cry yet echoes in the stone,
Yet echoing in the ears of those who watched him fall
As grief seized their hearts in hopelessness,
Helplessness to guard, to protect, to serve,
Eyes of a lion now closed as a lamb,
Each murmuring words of nothing into their being.

The souls are shrieking for vengeance,
Shrieking for justice and sweet, sweet revenge.
And who will give it to them?
Who will stand upon the banks of the river
And deny the warrior passage?
Who will weep for the fallen and not cry out his name?
Who will gaze upon the heavens
And not see his face, his form, his sword,
In the diamonds of night?
Who will forget his name?

The ancient one;
The arcane one.
The immortal being;
The warrior.