Untitled Poem

Cold as the white snow,
Mind clouded with thunder of doubt,
The soul succumbing to
The quicksand of despair,
The heart struggles to breathe life,
Yet its pulse grows fainter.
The warrior collapses,
Nearly lifeless,
Rain of sorrow,
Coming down hard on his skin,
The heart becomes fainter and fainter,
Slowly bleeding out the very ounce
Of life left in it.
The warrior slowly fading,
But before he does,
A glimmer of light appears out of nowhere,
Holds the warrior up,
Takes his hand,
And restored the life back
Into the heart,
The soul breathing mist into the lungs
The spirit nearly alive again,
And the warrior stands tall:
Rebuilt, Revitalized, and Reborn.
No grave can hold this vessel down,
For he is the last assassin,
The last outlaw,
And the last ray of hope.