Incessant spells of calamitous trial and mental frustration. Made proper by the astounding measure of internal conflict spiced by experience and expectation, the sour taste displeasing. In quandary faith found in minute measure, stumbling humbly to freshen my bandage upon a wound which refused in its healing. Scars welcome the slurry of plasma and poison beset to tell the prisons from which I wandered freely. For in the quiet dawn of war’s night passing the peace stunk of all things unholy and infrequent. Smells and swells of warm putrid breeze leaving all it touched a residue of shame and disquiet.

The Legions had left unwilling. Drawn back to the dark wells and caves of silken slumber to lay in wait for our weakness to grow fondly in our cowardice and pence. The fates sharpen their teeth upon the tassels of our namesake. Preaching an end to all that we’d be promised if we were willing to accept it. In the dark I drove my knife to hilt in the innocent ground before me as if the heart of enemies fowl and knights errant. Running headlong in the desert ill advised as all that wanders its sandy reaches find that everything wishes to just have a little taste of sweet life and remove courage from each bosom.

Cycle born aloft by powers beyond reckoning, we trudged the paths that time had waged and wagon wheeled before we became idea or reason. This small stand my hopeless regard of days I was not given. Bearing down upon the enemies of man I bit my lip until blood trickled making my stomach turn and tumble. I am found in boldness of this evening, securing might and courage of unknown gifting to the Grace of all men’s passing I growled into the desperate black. Ignoring whispers of dead friends and teachers my mind collapsed to avoid the pulsing rage of fear and thrashing ill. If God be with me I would see the light of morning, if not this would be the dusty hill upon which I made my stand for humanity.