The Fight

Death and decay now lay within: staining, disgusting.
Fallen enemies - the damnèd spectres,
Ghosts from yesterdays - wouldst release me not. Bastards.
'Fend myself, I strained to; failing, ailing.
Sight I lost so fall I didst, crashing and bleeding.
Poolèd bloods, mine own now seeps forth. Like a
Snail with sanguine trail, I wouldst die from the wayward
Step that may befall upon my stampèd
Corpse. The blades and teeth my own body they tear to
Shreds, like red confetti thrown to wounding
Winds that lift my form, in its rent and destroyèd
Form. My innards lay before mine eyes for
All the world to view. I am broken and spent. So
Black and dark are hearts when demons roam free.

My friend, give not to the winds of the world. Fight on, pressing forth. No surrender. Hang in there, the Reinforcement is coming.