How is it that you stay so pure,
Of heart and mind?
Don't you know this is war?
There's no room for people like you.

But still you survived.
No. Triumphed,
Over every enemy,
You held your shining sword.
A beacon of chivalry,
Slicing through the darkness of our days,
With the light of former glory.

You were a knight.
No. A Paladin for my cause.
More holy than any god of man.
A star rising in the dawn of a new age.

But constantly you were haunted,
By ghosts of the past.
Ghosts of a broken kingdom,
And a shattered dream.
Do you sleep at night,
And hear their voices calling to you?
Crying out to you for help,
Help to save a cause long lost to man.

There is a crimson stain on your fingers,
Which only you can see.
The color of a rose,
Blood red.
Beautiful petals soft as velvet,
Silky like your lips,
From which elegant words spill,
Like so many drops of water issuing from a fountain.

You are a rose,
As a bud we can only guess,
What you will become.
The suddenly,
You blossom and change,
Into something beautiful,
Wild and exotic in your glory.

But to compare you to a rose,
Is it not cruel,
Bringing to light a dark truth?
For a rose,
In all its splendor,
Will bloom and grow and eventually die.
Will it not?

For once,
I will go first,
To pave the way for one stronger than I.
But you will live on,
To find true peace,
To lead the world through its struggles,
Into new light.

Will you remember me,
When I am gone?
You hated me,
I know.
I held you back from what you could be.
You ran,
And left me here,
Alone to face this cruel world.
Alone to fight this battle.
But I remember your voice,
You were the only one who understood,
Who saw me for the man I was,
Always there for me when I was in need.
A shoulder to cry on,
The one who kept me alive,
On those tortured nights,
When the world wanted me dead.
My refuge from the storm,
My golden angel of mercy,
My love,
My life . . . . .

My lady.