Triumph For Yours

Triumph comes   once you’ve loaded up your amour, only to be   defeated   standing in a field of the dead. Your sword now heavier than the metals   around your neck,   heavier than the grief   which rolls in with the fog, laced with the spirits of battles before. They all look the same in the afterlife.

               It’s the great suffering...

Destiny of millennia.      How many battles have been had just to end in distaste, the same battle of brushing your   hand against mine, but not remembering what    it felt like to hold.

               ...ending in the same stance of defeat.

They say there are no  good kings, but a king who fights in place of his army has  saved men of many nations. This war was only ever meant to save us from destruction.

Here’s to looking at you, in your battered and worn amour

                         Saying, “I never meant to drag you into this.”

It’s a   persevering bittersweet, standing up, face to   face with the truth of what we’ve made here.  Bare faced and empty handed, I’m offering you all I have left of things. There’s a limit to what happens next. There's a certain longing in the unknown of tomorrow.

                       A truce, if you will. 

What are we doing if not trying to get to the over there?

I think over there is where my heart is. You, with your arms spread wide

               Saying, “There’s been wars since I’ve held you.”