Poetry

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From what was dead and buried,
A new life sprang up too.
But not the way it used to be;
Completely made anew!

From the ground that it was planted in,
It never stood a chance.
A dry and barren wasteland;
A land without romance!

The hearts of all the people there,
Were cold and hard as stone.
And when he went out fighting,
He always went alone!

He always knew the odds he’d face,
But still fought win or lose.
His faith was his only weapon;
He didn’t have to choose!

He fought the battles for the ones,
Who couldn’t defend themselves.
And when they went to find him,
He was praying by himself!

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