The Death of the Valiant (somewhat unfinished)

Evenfall strikes swiftly now,
and shelterless, I walk alone,
with nothing, but a shadow near
through the streets of right and wrong.

The burdened shade is bent with wear,
bound to stay black, under moon, star or sun.
Strangely alike the rumor of me,
that I ever have failed to catch up with.

As slowly I lumber, it seems to me
that raindrops hit down harder now
than they did just yesterday.
so I cloak myself in my coat of shame

But little's the warmth it offers me,
for the wind that blows this Autumn night,
is colder than it ought to be,
as October-days have yet to come.

So I knock on doors, but the chill outside
is slightly surpassed by the answering calls;
"Stay away, you shameless fool".
Not clouds alone shed tears tonight.

The truth that once was told of me
Dimly echoes in my tired mind.
What all of mankind fails to see
is that winter too will turn to spring.

But such is not worth thinking of.
Prejudice is a deadly foe.
One may fight it, and thrust it down,
but to the surface, ever, shall it return.

Thus I keep on walking by,
the houses, lit with hates cruel flame
From their windows words are thrown at me,
but rain consumes their sinful truth.

I try to keep my head raised high,
but fail, and once again my eyes
fix upon the flooded ground
not to see the sky again.

I am not weak, and find strength in little
but tonight, it seems, even such is absent,
such as is needed to raise one's head,
such as is needed to stay alive.

Cold and wet, I huddle, and wait
for the coming peace, my final fate.
Bound to die in the empty street,
I try to cry, but lack strength to weep.

And only now do I fully comprehend
how little a difference I make.
By the sound of the rain I fall asleep
never again to wake.