demons and princes

The fire still burns
but now red as blood,
our wings are all clipped
boots covered in mud.

On we all walk,
the straps bound up tight,
forever grounded,
forever without flight.

In four hundred years,
the walls will all stand,
changed by their time,
but still ever so grand.

when I am ended,
perhaps then I will know,
why forever forsaken,
with no place to go.

While I clasp my spear tightly,
and peirce my friends' flesh,
some with sharp daggers,
with blood that's still fresh.

But who holds a weapon,
and simply cares,
who wants my blood,
and who holds me in prayers.

I know not for certain,
my place or my pride,
but I know now for reason
I care, and I've tried.