Beneath the iron skies they stand
with blood-stained hands and shifting sand.
A truth etched deep within their gaze,
forgiveness is not the warrior’s praise.
Their blades sing songs of darkened lore,
each stroke a vow, each fight a roar.
To seek absolution is to falter.
To bow before the brittle altar.
No prayers escape their lips in night,
their creed is battle, their torch the fight.
Every scar a badge of pain endured.
Every wound a tale, unblurred.
They know the cost, they bear the weight,
no warrior bends before the gate.
For wars are won but peace is fleeting,
in silence, their hearts keep beating.
A life of clash, a path of grief.
Forgiveness lies beyond belief.
Seared in the flame, hearts do not wane,
no warrior seeks forgiveness in vain.
You had me at the title.
This is perfection, PAR.
Thank you my dear friend.
Powerfully penned, PAR. Fantastic imagery, great read my friend. Appreciate you.
Damian
Thank you, Damian!