• Warrior

    I am but an old man now.
    My children have grown and have children of their own,
    And I am wasting away to the God of Time.
    Oh how I wish I were back in the savage days of my youth.
    Back when I felt I could take on the world.
    Slowly, however,
    My strength wanes and I feel the frigid hand of death upon my old bones.
    It’s an ominous feeling.
    One of pure forlorn desolation and unkempt agony.
    I sit here as the sun sets on the last chapter of my life,
    And write to you hoping, praying,
    That at least, in some small way,
    My writings will keep me alive.
    But sadly, it is not so.
    I hear it now, louder than the heavens,
    The cadence of my death,
    As I am ensnared within the shadow of my undoing.