Under gray skies, in forgotten lands,
A warrior lies, time-bent,
Once a general, cloaked in glory,
Now a shadow, in the chained mud.
He carried golden insignia, under banners in the wind,
Followed by thousands, in his proud moment.
But pride was a blade, in his heart a torment,
Which traced the darkest segment in history.
His pride, like widespread poison,
He has poisoned minds, a future rejected.
Longing for more, he found himself confused,
A lost army, swallowed up in a vortex.
Now he lies, on a sidewalk, abandoned,
Old, tired, and still indomitable.
His voice, once respected command,
Now a cry, in the wind, lost and cursed.
No longer loved, nor followed, only left,
His bed, the street, his cloak, the rag.
Yet, in his eyes, a fire never tamed,
Arrogance and anger, of a broken kingdom.
The night falls, cold witness,
Of the homeless man lying, forgotten.
But even in oblivion, in his prison,
Pride remains, a spirit that never bends.
Thus ends the tale, of fall and pain,
Of a hero who became a beggar,
Whose life is a warning, to those who seek honor,
That humility is strength, more than brilliant gold.