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.