He May Have Won the Battle
But was not totally unscathed
He wanders the valleys of the lost souls,
Within his hand he holds a tonic of wisdom and sanity,
Smalls sips withdraw his breath from the breeze,
The elixir the only thing that distinguishes him from the rest of humanity.
He runs with the wolves as leader of their pack,
Wearing the sinew of coyote hearts laced into his boots,
Fear wafts from his essence as he passes you by,
Because you understand it’s your enemy in which he cahoots.
A loud bang flashes off on top of the hill,
He slowly turns to set his gaze upon the confusion,
A fire burns brightly where once a house stood,
Destruction the only given illusion.
He strolls the trail that’ll take him to the devastation,
Upon his shoulder rides the eagle that honours his courage,
They are inseparable as eyes that see all,
Gazing through the fire, burning through long forgotten storage.
As he stands and ponders the effect of this destruction,
A long snake slithers from within the flames,
His eagle…
