My sword is drawn, but I don't feel moved to fight.
My soul feels drained of energy, empty of might.
My heart aches inside, and I don't know why.
Each of my breaths sound like a shuddering sigh.

Emptiness and darkness surround me; choking me.
Salvation is probably the last thing I'll find or see.
The night is swallowing me; drawn by my doubts within.
I can't see; my black world is beginning to turn and spin.

But then I see my hands, holding my precious blade.
I stare entranced at its metallic silver shade.
I can't let my sorrows take me, that's not who I am.
I'm a Warrior, not a wanderer, mage, or just a sham.

My own regrets try to shake me; draw me into the dark.
But no, despair is one place to that I will not embark.
Warrior, graps your sword, rise to your feet and fight.
You live by this code alone; Might is right.

Is might right? If so, why does that phrase make me feel empty?
Maybe I should follow instead my sense of integrity.

With a short sigh, I slowly but steadily rise up from the ground.
No longer saddened, I head towards where battles can be found.