Warrior (Poetry)

The day’s red warrior is laid to rest —
fallen, on a hill, his body bleeds
a passion that the world too soon forgets
as stillness spreads to soften love’s raw needs
remaining, skeletal, nailed to the trees —
scarlet threads that twist their agonies.

He’s gone — that champion — that fierce, bright soul
who blazed a trail before time brought him down —
killed the fire but left the legend whole —
he haunts the hill above the twilight town
and breathes the dusk-chilled warning sent by night —
prepares to wage the spirit’s deathless fight.