Fading Sunrises

Withered warriors clinging to their war,
one last clash to gleam its prize
one last dream of past victories
to obey the heart of their embattled life,
but fate is the villain lying in wait,
they prowess of military skill
pitted against its fickle wilds.

Harsh and brutal it collects
a bloody trophy for their effort,
nobody wins in the duel
death the only master left,
but in the end they remain
soldiers fighting the war inside.

Finally moving to a epilogue of fatal honor
against the enemy they can’t avoid,
along the way they leave a trail
of blood drops, bullet laden bodies
and the reality of old west life.

Oh the past is their ghost that haunt
because progress is its own minions
who march in a parade
where the wild bunch are unwanted,
hunted and regarded as criminals
undeserving of mercy.

That’s the unspoken rule of their world,
survival has no middle ground of peace
and knights in the saddle easily fall,
their tarnished armor splattered in claret stains.

Then in a moment of respite
someone looks for a person to blame,
“they” is muttered by a young follower,
an old veteran just butchers that phantom guilty term,
like a reality of acceptance
there is no retirement
for the crusader
just a grave that doesn’t care their life.