The Broken Sword

There are those that watch and there are those that do.
I once knew this man, he was one who watched then did.
He was their backbone, they respected him.
A day away, he disappeared into a deep dark place.
He fought the eery shadows with his sword of light for many long years.
The day came where his mighty sword fell and shone dull,
His tortured soul summoned forth the shadows of the dark and let them
flood him.
His breathing slowed, his heart grew cold,
His complexion grew a soft white, which burned against the darkness.
He opened his eyes, blood red did they shine,
His thirst undying, his body preserved.
He lowered his fists from his shoulders and held his head high.
From his resting place he rose and the moon made his skin look almost
translucent.
He grinned wryly and washed his mind clean of his old ways.
On he roamed in search for others such as he,
A rogue soon to be successful.
As the lady of light rose over the horizon his skin singed horribly and
he ran for cover.
Burns, so many burns,
He trended them and they healed quickly.
Another found him as the moon rose one more and took him into his cares.
A new brethren had he found, his old meaning nothing,
He had moved on.
The darkness he summoned shall forever stay within him and the light
that once filled his tender soul lye in the darkness like the broken
sword,
That once...protected him.

Penned by my hand on the 25th of Khepary, in the year 126 MA.