The Last Breath

In every laboured breath

And deed planned for no tomorrow

In the cold of lightless suns

With no promise of our laboured love

The cold and abandoned heart

Beats its resolve

And warms outer grass

Bending with future breath

No warrior, pilgrim of knight

Thinks of has the belief

In the mortal world that virtue sleeps

It springs at the last

With the promise of perhaps

When you give that bought pain

Perhaps take last laboured breath

By J.W.H. Hobbs.