The Morning Moon

In the cradle of the morning,
watching the bawling Sun.
The Night's reflector, sets out
to meet another sink
and another different kind of dawn.

The Night was long,
dark and rested.
Illuminated by the sole fighter,
with an arsenal not its own.
Aided by comrades of distant lands,
that would turn up too late,
even if they had a chance.

There were struggles and times of doubt,
for the fighter so brave.
Basking in glory and casting a shadow,
the Champion of a losing battle.
There was but him and a time of darkness.
There was but him and a fear of the unknown.
There wasn't much a choice he had.

His Nadir and Zenith were met with silence.
Not the jubilant shouts of his Wards.
His joys were the continued humming and hum drum lives
that continued below unnoticed and indifferent.
His joy and sorrow were lost among the clouds.

He battled on,
as the doubts faded ahead and behind.
There was no beginning or end to it all
even remotely in his sight.
Yet he marched on,
defender of those who lay
unhindered by the progressions around.
Unaware of the epic war being waged around.

Then in his final act
of loyalty and defiance.
For the sake of new time of a new fighter and
new world.
He faded into the light,
unnoticed by those who finally awoke.
He left with his glance at those he saved,
he left with a strangely monolithic memory he made,
he left with his life unnoticed and unheard.
He left to wage a war, in a different part of the World.