the lone angel

The lone angel remained at its post.

Shattered, aloof, winded.

The breathe from its lungs knocked out,

but it still remained.

He wept tears of hurt,

black ink pooling from his glazed-over eyes.

His sword remained steady, 

holding himself upright.

His wings ached and his body shook.

He was tired,

but he kept going.

He shouldn't

He wouldn't,

He couldn't,

quit now. 

Not after everything.