Bulwark
All is lost; the field of conquest
Choked with hordes who seek the slain.
All have fallen round about me,
Father, fellow, soldier, friend.
All exposed alive behind me
Mine alone now to defend.
Breaths from death I grasp the handle
Of my father’s ancient blade.
Strike the stone ignite the spark
That sets the fire-borne sword ablaze.
Eyes once downcast raised in vengeance
Death or victory mine to claim.