A hero stands on a sacred hill,
Reaping the blows of his life.
Surrounding him are allies and friends,
All unable to ease his strife.

He made the choice those years ago,
To be the beacon they needed
But did not know the price he would pay;
Advice went largely unheeded.

A tragic smile breaks his lips,
A happy tear on his cheek.
He knows there may be no tomorrow;
His outlook is rightly bleak.

He thinks of loves he has won and lost,
Of battles fought and fled,
He remembers those who gave their lives,
His friends who for him bled.

In his heart he sees but one recourse,
Though his mind recoils in fear.
He feels a pang of sweet remorse,
Then says words that none will hear.

A bow before the storm above,
Is all that marks his exit
Before he gives up life and love,
And to honor does submit.

A flash of brilliance,
A deafening crash
Then nothing more remains.

Nothing save an empty grave,
And friends who mourn in vain.