The Last Standing
I lay my sword upon the battlefield--
my blood and theirs congealed upon the ground.
With pride we gave our vow to never yield,
and now we reap the peace that we have found.
The grandest cause escapes my mind just now,
whatever fought for silenced by these moans.
'Twas "just to win" my thoughts then would allow,
without the truth that consequence atones.
I'm Hero, sung to grandsons by the fire--
though nothing but blind fortune saved my day.
The've not my mem'ry of a funeral pyre;
as friend and foe burned brightly whilst I prayed.
Now, those who live bray tributes through the night.
While ghostly whispers hiss, "Who fought the fight?"
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