Decayed and Broken

Alone I Break without any help I cannot fight the good fight no more.

My body too weak to fight off the poisoning destroying my system bit by bit.

Unable to get back up again.

Unable to draw my sword rally my army and take on the horde of evil fast coming.

Tired and defeated like Boromir from arrows sticking out of me.

The years plaguing my steel trap mind.

My soul shakily holding together from decades of torture.

My heart weakened from centuries of mourning and sorrow.

My blood corrupted and putrid from millennia of feedings.

My skin decadent weary from eons of countless battles and wars.

I am dying more and more everyday.

But Deep Inside somewhere a fire awakens.

Telling me to go on but I cannot no more.

Too weak.

Too tired.

But I rise up joints creaking ready to give out on me.

I am not in control so I take up my sword that once was light as a feather now weighs a ton to my senses.

I falter at first then get up again as more flesh tears and breaks open.

I take a slow pacing run groaning in pain spitting blood.

I call what troops I have left with my ancient horn that breaks after the second call.

I feel like I am on a plateau of happiness.

I see what remains of my army and head off for one more glorious charge.

Pinpricks of sorrow attack my heart as I cry.

Arctic winds blow through my tattered clothes chilling my half exposed bones weakening me even more.

The anvil blocking my thoughts I shake it out to clear my steel trap mind.

Lost to my own senses I go on full speed ignoring pain and mourning.

I go The Extra Mile for One Last Time.