THE RISING

The red skies turned upset
as I dropped my shield,
and the battle didn't listen
to my tiring plead-
all turned their spears
towards my ankle,
and I halted for a while.
I wasn't up,
my spear's metal weakened
like my soul
that tried to reason with virtue.
Then...
the sun seemed to wait
for one last time:
that one moment before
it prepared to set.
I grabbed my shield,
my life in my ankle,
swirled my spear,
all caught with fear.

Let the battles be planned.
With my spear shall I stand,
aged with the purest of virtues.
With life on my ankle, I shan't lose!