The Martyr

			
This man, this martyr, storming a bloodied beach, with tragic eye sees his fate.
The gods compel him, do as will be done;
And when the searching arrow pokes his heart, how the gods, old and new, weep as they all knew they would do.
And yet a little life lingers in his chest,
and strength, holding fast to aching bones,
heave him one step further.
The gods in their blind weeping see not the further step,
save Fortune, who howls, demands he repent.
But he, being the further yet, hears nor heeds the daemons call
but stumbles, stumbles towards the city wall.