A stoic warrior crests the grassy hill of fate
His cloak flapping and flowing in the light breeze
The bright sun reflected upon gleaming plate
His stature appearing as strong as a mighty oak tree
All it takes is one closer look
And the facade fades away
Although he is not quite an open book
It's the little things that betray
The edges of his weathered armour are rusting
And look at how the shield is scarred and cracked
The once sharp steel of his sword is slowly blunting
The tears and holes in his cloak give away the fact
Just one glance into that hollow stare
A peek at his haggard expression
Simply shows how he has fared
In his slow decay and recession
Though his belt may boast victories
They were few and far between
Now his exhaustion is his disease
A slippery slope he had not forseen
Even in his weary state
He endures and carries on
Having lost all trust in fate
The warrior must create his own dawn