He looms, surveying the battlefield;
Watching, waiting; preparing
Searching for any man ready to yield,
On this battlefield; ****** and daring.

He walks, advancing the battlefield;
Drifting, gliding; anticipating
Approaching the man whose fate is sealed,
On this battlefield; hostile and devastating.

He seizes, possessing the battlefield;
Grasping, smirking; succeeding
Completing his mission, his work concealed,
On this battlefield; futile and misleading.

I am the man whose fate was sealed,
I am the one who was forced to yield;

Forced to yield my soul, to that looming shadow,
On that battlefield of tragedy and sorrow . . .

. . . where death was the only victor.