Supposed glory is all that is left
on a long tangled pathway from the graveyard of souls.
I am empty.
Why begin again?
I am weary of this war,
The darkness will take me in.
Aching arms and scared feet
demand I cease this journey.
The wounds of battle soak into memory.
The light of distant stars,
the swirl of autumn leaves,
and children crying
reach inside,
turning,
changing,
and restoring me.
Somewhere hope remains.
The spark flickers,
and once again I walk towards peace.
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