• A man stands lone.
    Statuesque,he barely breathes.
    A sword he holds which glimmers in the light.
    Day in, day out, the man does not move.
    People glance wondering why.
    Why does this man stand so still?
    Till one day another man arrives wielding a sword.
    The new swordsman runs forth and swings; however he is not fast enough.
    His body hits the ground with a soft thud;his lifeless eyes now point toward heaven.
    The man seemingly did not move,but the blood drying on his sword breaks the illusion.
    Soon the dead will be taken away;he too will join the rest, and one again the man is denied.
    Thoughts run through his head.
    'Am I forever cursed so? Still there is no one that is worthy. When will I ever be freed from my misery?'
    This man,fallen from grace, wants to die.
    Too afraid to kill himself,he must die a warrior's death.
    A bloody death with sword drawn to end it all.
    To feel the sweet embrace of death would be mercy on him.
    So he stands, never moving and always waiting for mercy