Swords and shields evolved into guns and armour,
Wind and rain became a source of power,
Yet as I confront the sunset and darkness ahead,
I am ready to battle forever and paint the world blood red.
But can a whistle sway an ocean?
Can the wind move a mountain?
As I am, I can only gaze to end with clenched fits
As those beautiful flowers become arrows spreading bloody mist.
When all those starry dreams transform to a silent abyss .
Find me here , holding onto a seed that became a world.
In the end, do I succumb to fantasy borne of my reality,
Or do I keep fighting like an archaic lord in a modern world?
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