The broken warrior

"tried new verse forms here."

His sword is drawn,
His die is cast.
Gently he looks into the dawn,
For the very next breath might be his last.

His eyes they shine bright,
His sword brighter still.
But his will to fight,
Shall never be fulfilled.

For in this war he seeks to find,
With blood on his blade,
Retribution, peace of mind.
For his sorrows, they cannot fade.

All is has known is death and despair,
The very air around him has its stench.
His enemy killed his maiden fair,
While the cold it took his wench.

And his father died in the battleground,
With his sword in his clenched fist.
And his son he lost, but never found,
He vanished into the mist.javascript:void(0)
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And his pain, it grows day by day,
Until with him it shall come to pass.
All his yearns for is to kill and slay,
All he wishes for is the next battle to be his last.

He marches on, his hope is dead,
His cause become unknown.
Battles far greater, rage within his head,
And his heart has turned to stone.

As so another warrior has become a broken man.
And broken, undone and vengeful, he fights and he stands.