Honed blades slice deep
and raging rivers run red.
Depth of perception is reality.
Life flashes before these eyes.
I sheathe my sword in glory
fearing what shall be.
Weariness tortures this soul
as was with all those long ago.
Death is not a stranger.
It toils beyond existence,
counting each amplified step
as I stumble upon its' haunt.
This warrior cannot cheat the reaper
nor challenge to bitter confrontation.
Defiance is his sustanance
and he will feast on my essence.
Generals shall tabulate victories
and battles that were won.
I will shed my accoutrements
and count blessings.
