hollow internally threaded within his heart;
grand the deeds they cannot die..
waiting the lapse of long centuries
to away smoothly downward upward
this floating; thru no fault of his own
death a breath away freely bleeding
the roadside hemorrhage so peaceful...
secrets forever dying within his own breast
holding claim as precious moments fly
inevitabley silently in tranquil repose
all he sees is a bright horizontal line
bisecting the sun he always so loved
equally the pain of leaving and staying
not moving.. quiet.. resting.. unruffled..
there was no melancholy for his fate
sweet song of birds becoming unhearable..
without having any land nor kingdom...
though the fires burned yet in the village
he felt foliage and earths warmth; essence
amidst the bitter beauty of sadness in
parting; bloody loyal lonely warrior:
as his flame expired calmly in a puff.
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