All of the men and the women were merely players.

We were pawns of the greater game, the hands of

Greater masters toying with our destinies. But we,

The few, be break that mold in defiance. We reject

Subjugation, the force that commands us to bend,

Lowly we bend at the knee until legs bleed beneath

Garments of tattered white, for we are the fallen.

Skin tears as legs and arms are strewn, spread wings

Of a flightless eagle, just as the heart is ripped in two

Simultaneously with flesh, as the beast within will

Not be forced down. It can never be restrained.

Courage and spirit and hope are intangible. They remain

The one thing that cannot be taken without one's

Consent. They are that which the beast guards forever.

I remain the guardian. None bypass me, unless my own

Master allows for it. It is on those days that I feel sorrow

As my king surrenders his throne and passes into shadow.

It was my duty to protect countless pawns, innumerable

Players abound. I cannot fail. I physically cannot fail.

But I feel that way, sometimes. Like I should reach out.

My master, though...sometimes it is not the master's will.

It is then, that I, guardian angel and warrior, feel forsaken.

Alone, deceived. I am whiter than white, purer than gold

Running in the rocks as glittering rivers underfoot mountains

And it then that I feel a burst of defiance myself. I feel what

The master felt when belittled. The want to rise again.

To raise the sword of justice and smite down the offender

And the anger is consuming. To be free, to be not a slave

But the guardian in me says, stay. But the anger burns on.