Lament

The sun hung heavy at dusk,
And cast a haze across the sky.
The man fell slowly down.
It was time for him to die.

​

His blood was warm,
His hands were cold.
The glory of battles fought,
Lives only in tales of old.

​

Across the vast clearing,
Comrades and friends,
Lay dead and dying,
Their painful ends.

​

But the man was silent.
He uttered not a word.
No cry or complaint,
Could very well be heard.

​

He laughed,
Then he cried.
He closed his tired eyes,
Then sighed.

​

It was time for him to die.