The Follower

His wings glowed white ivory
His hair shone like spun gold
His dark eyes told a story
Of numerous battles bold
~+~
Half sick of wars wrought with blood and shadow
He cried out in anguish and wept
He finally lay down his silver bow
And looked on with regret as his foes slept
~+~
He gazed upon their faces
The friends he had fought
He wished to erase this
The destruction he had wrought
~+~
He regretted his choice
He had not chosen well
Throughout heaven rang a voice
He wept as he fell
He regretted his choice
He had not chosen well…