The Lonely Boy & His Sword

He sat on a plain looking afar for a lake, But he couldn't see any though he was awake, Then he looked down and saw he sat on a drought, The land on which the wrath of his kind always fought, He carried a sword always but now he doesn't know where to rest, All these years he drew blood on the ones whom he thought was the pest, Now nothing seems even seems to be pretty even from the crest, For he failed when he thought showing bravery was a test, He regrets to live alone amidst the ember that burns his foot, As his skin is covered with ashes that makes him nothing less than soot, There he impales himself for there is no fruit, As his last breath said what's the purpose of living like the brute ?