This is a story, of one in despair.

Atop a hill of blades, his soul beyond repair,

Sorrow too forgiving a word, to describe his ideals,

and thus with Alaya, he had struck a deal.

'Glory this' it said, 'Glory that' it said,

he simply just accepted it, for the price of saving people,

and thus sorrowful, it was his pay.

Witnessing destruction, caused by his own hands,

He regretted it, his hands scarring the land,

He now firmly believes, his ideals were naïve,

and thus he set forth, to kill a younger him.

And when he heard, of the Grail War,

he was summoned, to serve as an Archer,

but he was not an Archer, but simply just a faker.

Upon being called forth, he made it his only will,

Shirou Emiya he will kill.

But the girl knew nothing, and left him with a seal,

to never ever simply, Shirou he must not kill.

His core was swords.

Forged upon fire, His body was steel.

His beliefs were simply, to be a Hero of Justice,

but he is a faker, and it was a borrowed belief.

He had believed intently, his father's dying words.

It is the thing that forged him, to simply be a sword,

happiness only merit, upon helping others,

the sword must live a life of despair.

...

I am the Bone of my Sword,

the first line of his aria,

how ironic it would be,

to see how it reflected.

Steel is my body.

He survived through countless trials,

physical or mental,

no truer words could be said.

Fire is my blood.

His blood is indeed fire,

for his fiery determination,

he carved a path for himself,

in a rocky world with only swords as his tools.

I have created over a thousand blades.

Yes, he created a thousand blades,

but not one of them he can call his own,

for he is merely a faker, a copier of ideals.

Not known through death.

No one knew who he was,

but he still saved people,

for the sake of his being.

Nor known through Life.

Everything had a purpose,

but his was just sorrowful.

Have withstood pain to create many weapons.

He sacrificed his wellbeing,

for the sake of the people,

who turned their backs on him,

and to the gutters they sent him.

Yet, these hands will never hold anything.

No. You will hold something,

far dearer than your ideals.

So as I pray.

You have no one to pray for,

even as you suffer,

not even the people you called "Friends".

Unlimited Blade Works.

...

Confined to the hill of swords,

alone he must forge,

fiery fire surrounding him,

he see nothing but a barren landscape.

But did he have any regrets?

Yes, quite a lot.

But did he mull over them?

No. He was stronger than that.

For he is no longer a Counter Guardian,

but he is a Heroic Spirit.

His name is shall no longer be EMIYA.

A poem made by me. (Obviously) This was inspired by another poem about Archer somewhere out there, Too bad I forgot the name just after reading it a few hours ago.