One man

Man made of fire,
Passion to fight.
Arrow through his heart,
Yet he refuses to die.
As stubborn as the light in his eyes

A soldier of war
An innocent man
Given a purpose
And a demand
His time is at hand

A body made hollow
From years of detest
Filled with raw choices
He couldn't reject.
His soul is now empty
With pain in his chest.

A fight fought with love
As he fell on the land
A pointless endeavor, given no end
Just to be broken
Left to think back
At all of his choices and emotion he lacks
Does he hear the screams coming back?
His time is at hand.

The man left a scar on the people he saved
He was no hero
No cause to believe
But left people thinking he did the right thing.
No tears had been shed for the man with no soul
Just those with fake smiles
And dozens of fools
See it wasn't the man the people rejoiced
It was his dreams
It was his choice
Nobody cared about just one man
For his body lay forgotten underneath the hot sand.

This poem is about: 
Our world
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 


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