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| The Pride of The Brave by � goeswith3faces Horseback, he stood in the creek. He spread his arms to welcome the energy of a new day that seemed to wash his soul clean. His hair was straggly and unkemptly and his dirty clothes were frazzled. The blood of his enemies those he had slain in uncountable battles spotted his whole body. He did not wear any trappings or trinkets. His dull eyes were closed when he enjoyed the first sunbeams of the breaking morning those touched his face, like the loving hand of his wife once did. When he opened his eyes the morning turned into darkness and the fresh kiss of the morning, left the aftertaste of ashes on his tongue. His eyes did not realize anymore the beauty of the morning, but he realized the area from tactically point of view. The crying of wounded and dying people swelled in his ears until the singing of the birds became silent. The smell of death overlaid the fragrances of flowers. He stood there, looking unbelievable at his claws of war; those had been his hands, hands that loved his wife, pet his children and made friends eternities ago. His heart was shrunken now, shrunken from a big heart that once was filled with love into a small and hard piece of coal, burned by pain and suffering, searching for the spark of life that he lost in the battles where he fought in. He knew that the glowing heat of hate and the iciness of calculation replaced it. Now, every feeling was deadening into a blunt pain that governed his spirit and that gave him the might to fight and the might to win. It made him winning battles and loosing wars. He left the battlefield damned to survive and damned to win without victory. Dark tears welled up in his eyes, tears of curdled blood, those ran over his cheeks and turned into life�s red when it dropped into the creek�s healing water. The Pride of brave is the warrior�s victory, and humanity�s defeat � With Love and Greatest Respect to all lives on Mother Earth ~ Goes-with-three-faces ~ |
