He holds his hands to his parched cracked lips
empty is the warm flask still strapped to his hips
the merciless sun bites at his neck like a daylight vampire
whist the winged scavengers fly high in circles in the air

In the background he hears the moaning of fallen comrades
as carrion peck on their weakened bodies bleeding crimson
pecking at their dried eyes whist sitting on their heads
yet he crawls and crawls to find slumber in the shade

The pyramids thy have created will never fall
he shouts in his most ardent defiance
and to shade be delivered does call
as he is the last of the golden alliance

Some shadow casters hear of this defiant one
and rush to his aid to give him mercy
yet he does refuse any gift of aid
for he is the last of the golden alliance

He wants to crawl on blooded hands
he loves it, do you not understand
he cares not a jot, if he dies it's part of the plot
as he has a holy secret that most have forgot

A haven he did eventually find
and in warrior stance
though weak and one eyed blind
he is the last of the golden alliance

By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris

By NeonSolaris
© 2013 NeonSolaris (All rights reserved)