The sound of rain
drumming against
rusted armor.

Surrounded by
comrades who
will fall.

Calm, with the
sword drawn
in my hand.

Moments before
marching into battle,
and tranquil,

serene. The enemy
across the
battle plain:

his knees
buckle, his
armor clangs.

He does not know
the simply beauty
of the calm before
the storm: the rain
that falls as a precursor
to the falling of the heroes,

for he is the hero.