Poetry #113

Still he
came back.

Clad in
battle wounds,

Drench in
blood of
his and
his enemies.

He came
back for
his comrades.

They called
him names,
a traitor,
a betrayer,
a liar.

Even so
He came
back to
save them.

He was
tired and
beaten but
there in
the horizon

Still ever
gleaming in
shine, bravery
and honor,

He came
back for
his friends.

But they
didn't knew.

They were
all blinded.

In the
back they
all stabbed
him without
any remorse.