God of all his fears

Cause of all his tears.

Creator of his scars.

Builder of his stance.

Forever did he run.

Always was he in a trance.

Always did the walls scream.

And they screamed death.

Death beckoned to him.

How comfortable it would be

To lie down and die.

To no longer fight.

The screams of death

Reached from the walls,

Took him about the neck.

“One more night!”

He cried every day.

A strain in his right side.

Always in return

The walls screamed back

“Knights run out.”

-M.L. Wright


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