The Defeated

Hold your ears, grasp your final breath 

For any minute of this silence's eer', you shall welcome death

You are nothing more than a mild whisper to a life's loud screaming wretch 

A tiny spot in a life so dark, so dull, no light left to fetch 

Your empty soul wallows in the hall of eternal end

Your feet desperately plants on the grounds of untempered bend 

Your hand, reaches forward to a direction seemingly near, with no one to tend 

A mind's desperate attempt to reach a solemn shadow of a friend

An eternal stretch, left to defeat

One final strike at the heart of darkness's repeat

One soul hopeless, left to fight a battle, longing for retreat 

One last gander to a world so full of cruel unending mistreat 

One final roar to the world you are at hear ready to leave 

Fight, and die to take the victorious defeat.