Ember-Lee

When struck down, I rise again. Thunders through rushing blood, Pounding out its war-cry until the end, Stifled by a crimson flood. When struck down, I rise. . . The tired echo slowly fades. A beating heart strives to survive, Hindered by a nearing grave. When struck down, I. . . Whispering breaths grow shallow, As those of it silently cry, Their steady pulses beating in woe. When struck down. . . There is naught but ruin. Valiant blood lies face down Bringing a life to the end. .  .