We stood on the cusp of victory,
and I, The Warrior, with the last charge in hand
had come to fulfill my destiny
as the last and only man to stand.

A soldier of a fashion, a rebellious cohort
of an ideal, and I feel every pang of pain
suffered by our legions, I could not abort
and allow such losses to be in vain.

Light and dark. Good vs. evil. Neither
mattered in this battle. There was only right.
And now, even that felt wrong. Either
I march off triumphantly or continue the fight.

Once, dreams of glory filled me, a hero
self-proclaimed and named after a fallen star
which appear on the day of my birth. A zero
destined for greatness. I could’ve gone far.

But as I look out on the devastation
I sense that this smoldering heap of despair
could have fared better if we had let our nations
flourish. Now only I, Wao Kinat-Jo am there

to defend this ‘prize’. A sad sight for eyes
that had once envisioned remarkable things,
but now seeing through this broken resolve to despise
the remnants of the empirical Order that still clings

to their own desolation. One man stands there as well
each of us in our living hell, each with a choice
to make. To take the next step and end with tales to tell,
or to both die in a flourish, and silence each others voice.

One hell of a decision; not much of a choice!

(C) Walter J. Wojtanik

dVerse Poets Pub – Dramatic Monologues


Other Warrior material can be found at