And so alone he sat,
Upon his throne of iron twisted with thorns
And gazed upon all that he had lost,
And all in the name of love.

For the glory of war he rides alone
Into the dying of the light,
To where confusion mingles with pain,
And leaves him gasping in sudden realization.

To the heights of legend he climbs,
Searching, ever searching, for something he will never find.
His armor long now lost, his sword broken,
As is his heart; left dying from honor.

And so the good deed dies,
Massacred before it was conceived,
Lost upon the foolishness of the naïve.
And hope takes flight to better shores.

For the words of the wise be believed
And so continued in his charade.
A man without a soul, heart or name,
To fall before the height of his ignorance.

And so at last he comes upon the end of things,
A candle burning its own wax,
Its light blinding the eyes of others
Until, at last, it thankfully disappears