With the fog of the battle quelling, 

he rose slowly

Long hours of the war,

weighing him down,

he began to walk back steady. 

He dared not cast his gaze behind him,

knowing what would greet him.

His men; all dead and gone,

and afore long forgotten

amidst the happy cries of victory;

he walked back alone.

Blood dripping down his form, 

his—or theirs—he wist not.

He ambled back to his chamber,

the silent awareness creeping in on him,

that there’d be none awaiting his safe returns,

none to tend to his battle wounds,

none to beseech what had befallen.

Only as he disrobed, did he realize why;

when years’ and years’ worth of wounds, and 

the deep, scary scars, met his stare for stare.

Dressing the new hurts, he wondered, if

there would ever come a she who would. 

One fair day, she came, a figment of his fancy

as if conjured straight from his mind’s eye.

Smiling, like the sun’s gaze upon him;

her bright light, flowing into his cracks.

Unbeknownst, she built him back up again,

piece by piece, he became the man he once was.

His faith revived, and trust restored to breath,

he resolved, for all she’d done, 

he’d be brave.

He’d show her his true form.

His heart thundering so, like never before,

he bared himself naked before her.

All scars and wounds, open for her to see.

And—

She cried out, and fled for life.

Much like him, never casting her gaze behind.

Never seeing the man she’d built collapse,

or the hurt she’d left in her wake;

leaving him with just another scar

to swell his replete coffers with…

~ r.a.w

thought i’d try something new, so here’s something out of my comfort zone — a little medieval and shakespearean!