The Last trumpet

Let them die —
but I will stand!
A dream I bear, a flame in my eyes,
to tread where battles have bled their last,
where the ground drinks deep the crimson flood.

Bare to the sun, with wounds laid wide,
blood painting me in glory’s red,
I shift my blade from hand to hand,
testing the grip where strength still roars.

I dig my heels into the earth —
and launch into one final charge!
To shred my soul into a thousand cries,
for something holier than breath itself.

To stare at this savage, wondrous earth,
and thank the gods for life’s wild gift —
one last time,
before the silence.

My scars are my crown,
My pain, my sword.
I bear the heart of the one-eyed tiger,
And the stomp of the lone tusker.