Futile Battle
Sun illuminates
the crimson cloaked warrior
perched high in the tree.
Rays of light bathe him,
in fleeting white purity.
He relishes it.
Crisp, cool breeze passes
through flowing silver tresses
bringing them to life.
His amber eyes close,
letting the warmth embrace him.
His inner soul sighs.
This peaceful feeling,
the soothing aura of calm,
It cannot last long.
Disappearing sun,
locked in its nightly prison.
Darkness reigns again.
