Death, whose face is downcast, bloodied, bent
Withholds his hand, uplifted, given pause
As in the face of fear and dark intent
The victor stands unmoving, all because
Death is a weaker being. See, his wounds
Are greater than the ones the victor wears.
And death casts down his shield as ringing sounds
Reverberate. Before, so unaware,
Death claimed to strike His heel and win the war,
But victory was won, and so the blood
Which blinds death's eyes, will flow unceasing, pour,
As life and breath and spirit, in a flood,
Flow forth from hands upraised to match his own.
Death, given pause, can no more hold him down.
postscript
Thumos--courage, spirit, blood, breath. Which cannot be held down by death. Especially remembered during a week such as this.