The winds have changed, the end is far, the lone road home seems lost to war, from the time he fell, and the spark they lost, millions perished, none knew the cost, He thought he knew his life's pursuit, but could never see, what followed suit, eons had passed in search of glory, but there he lay, at the end of the story.
But, it was not meant to be, for the final sparks of a spent flame, reignited with fury and rage, and flare it did and up it went, back again from the depths of torment, and once again the flags went high, to obliterate the mighty one so nigh.
Darkness returned in a whole new way, the night deepened, no sign of day, at the top of the hill, they met on face, one last time, before the final race, and when the big mighty drums did roar, it was to signal the climactic furore.
Scores of embers went up in a flash, the land burned bright and the heavens clashed, but the lone warrior was destined to return, and grant the fallen, one last run, and so he did with all his grit, against the walls of solid brick.
But the moment finally did arrive, the heavens roared, the mighty drums did subside, the one who was mighty finally fell, into the crypts of the red and burning hell, and then at last, the few that survived, emerged from the foggy sight, but this time they had their heads up high, for the one who was spent, resurrected their fire, and led them to victory and out of ire.
And at the very end, he finally did sleep, his enduring dream earned, his mission complete. The world hence forth, will remember his run, for now it was day for generations to come.