A Warrior's Eyes

The night breaks fast upon a warrior who stood alone,
His broken hilt clutched within cold hands of stone.
Vicious red and gold gaze upon a blade,
Their time is nigh and within hell's love their twisted minds parade.
Thunder roars as on his brow a bead of sweat appears,
This man knows no weakness, misery, or fear.
As blood runs fresh he turns his back to this darkened feast,
A spirit so shamed his violence shall never truly cease.
Lost within this mortal realm his heart presses on
But, only for death's release doth this demon long.
Forgotten by time, he eternally wields his sword.
Reaching for the distant day, where his spirit no longer wars.
Let us pray his eyes never cross yours,
For his are a warriors' which do not hold remorse.