The Last Man Standing
Heavy hearted
He stands tall and faces his enemy,
Pride rides his back in a show of strength,
He’ll stand his ground knowing he has his empathy,
Backing him in this fight at length.
He swallows his words and waits to see what he’ll hear,
His nemesis smiles in a false sense of glory,
Why? Because his stubbornness is not the friend he believes,
And he has no idea of our warrior’s vast inventory.
The foolish combatant starts with an attack,
And a clash of swords echoe across the darkening sky,
Cymbals of steel ring and box our ears,
Ensuring we all look in that direction, casting our eye.
It’s fierce and bloody, a battle to the death,
Wounds scream in agony as a limb succumbs,
Blood runs freely; this is no child’s game,
For one of these men, death quickly comes.
The battle is long and weary, never ending,
The sharpness of steel blunts to a dull edge,
A lustful scream of determination rallies each thrust,
Pushing the other closer to life’s slippery edge.
