I am a weapon in the wielding hand,
I am a meanse, nor purpose neither goal.
I spill my life, I fight for Promised land,
For grace, which He on others shall bestow.
I am but shield to cover fragile life,
Your shortening time, your fleeting golden light.
My soul is marred by fratricidal strife;
Repentance gives no peace. Forgiveness - might.
I am the Fallen trying to ascend.
I crave for what is lost; I won't regain.
The reddness of thy robe will not amend
The carmine marks with which my hands are stained.
I'm but an arrow shot into the dark,
Though I have guessed whose heart it is my mark.