Cycle

Fourteen warriors guarded heaven while angles stormed the gates of hell.
From there forms all could tell they had been inside before they fell.
Was it pride or greed that left them to think kindness for the weak?
Routed crests of former opponents lay littered at their feet.
No more could they do to lay insult upon what honor had remained.
The coldness in their eyes could not disguise the heated need for pain.
Each forsook the brilliant world to cloaked themselves in nightmare black.
Each of them made choices, none that could be take back.
Weapons at the ready, steady at the line, the warriors flashed their outrage on all who came in sight.
They felt no shame in sacrifice.
Blood flowed swift and free.
Tempers flared up high as flames danced around their feet.
Righteous indignation cut at flesh that was no longer theirs to keep.
As their core turned frigid there was no lingering farewell.
Voided cloaks were lifted as they faced their sorrow and there shame.
Shadows threatened to keep them, until a spark spoke to their minds:
"Though you ignored me, I never left your side.
Though you would have killed me, I never forgot your mine.
Take with you this treasure.
Learn from your misdeeds."
With those words, a quiet whispered breath, there souls came to a rest.
On the morrow they return with a new formed, youthful breath.
A chance to prove they understood and so have past the test.
No grand acclaim, speeches of fame, silent are the victory bells.
A gentle sound a soft caress at there mother's breast...
Fourteen warriors known as children reclaim heaven from their place in hell.