The Rise of the Martyr

A man, though undeserving
Of the fate of men
Chose to live and die a martyr
At the hands of his greatest enemy,
Stands to face him.
Though his hour has come
He shows no fear.
Previous attacks have been inflicted,
Both body and mind;
Yet he chooses to remain and fight.

"I'm not afraid to die,"
Quoth the Martyr, tall and pale,
Though Death bore scars
Wounds so deep
They cut his very bones.
"I know you well, son of darkness,
For we have crossed paths before."
Death flexed his mighty arm
And snapped his lengthy whip
And the Martyr fell.

But young was the battle
Though weaponless the man
And rising again, he claimed,
"Yes, now is the time, proper and right
For me to pass through your world
And into mine. But beware:
I will not succumb without resistance!"
With a mighty roar, Death charged:
The blow was fierce and strong--
And the Martyr fell.

Death was determined
Yet so was the Martyr:
He obeyed not Death but God
Who had sent him to defeat this foe,
Though it cost his life.
So standing, beaten and bruised,
He challenged his enemy.
But Death, with ages of power
Used spikes on gentle hands and feet;
And the Martyr fell.

Against this power
Given strength and purpose
the Martyr could barely stand.
Weak and bloody his body showed
But his spirit was not finished.
The fate of the world lay upon his heart
Though his flesh desired surrender.
Wielding a heavy spear
Death came upon him;
And the Martyr fell.

His body broken, his spirits crushed
The Martyr crawled to his knees
And lifting his head, he cried,
"Lo, I am forsaken unto death."
His time had come;
His enemy lived on.
Victoriously, Death marched to him
And brandishing a blade of black
He pierced the martyr's heart.
And for the final time,
The Martyr fell.

Death reigned for three days
Believing the battle to be won.
But on the third day
His prisoner and adversary
Lifted his head once more
And slew Death
Rising to conquer once and for all
The strongest power of earth.
Death was defeated.
And the Martyr rose.