The last man left standing
The strongest of the weak
The last man still breathing
The fiercest of the meek
Behind city walls, empty stares follow every move
Within hollowed halls, empty shells seek proof of life
And should one speak, havoc would break en masse
For no living shall pass through the ruins of the past
Whispers of rot and grey echo in dark-lit stores
White smoke rises from long-abandoned homes
Graveyards of stained steel and two-way glass
And above these danger zones long-dead stars
Tall stands the man, blood upon his scarred brow
Blue eyes cast down, tears falling down in streams
Mouth in a thin line, red lips torn by broken dreams
Still stands the man, blood upon his matted crown
Through battlefields of sunken eyes, haunting and hungry
Relentless in their pursuit the undead hunt their prey
Though battlefields of broken cries, daunting and hungry
He bathes in his enemies blood to disappear in the fray
The hunter wields a crossbow, ready to defend or kill
He who never wavers, to allow a friend one last breath
He who never bows to any man but to one true Death
The hunter wields a crossbow, ready to fight and win
Heavy rests the weight of the old world upon his head
When fighting ravenous hands reaching to turn him
Heavy rests the weight of the new world upon his head
When fighting treacherous minds trying to break him
Deaf and blind to the searing pain
The last man always walks away
Drowning and alone, silently weeping
The last man keeps on walking
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
last man keeps on walking, good write