His Final Breaths

On a planet bound to be glassed

He views the approaching, hostile mass.

Noble 6 steps forward to itch a combative scratch

That would only continue to irritate him, like a rash.

He dodges a plasma blast

Only to return with a nasty gash

That would later kill the one who delivered the attack.

Target after target, magazine after magazine,

The group was slaughtered; anew approached.

You tell by the way he unholstered his pistol from his hip

Or by the way the hum of his mother's lullaby found his lips

That either way, as he looked at the face of death

He knew that finally, in peace he could rest.