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.