Whispers on a breeze

The phone rings and a distorted voice bellows through the crackling static as the stagehand puts the phone on speaker for all around to hear

"Oh how the mighty have fallen from grace and now I am but a whisper on the breeze, a mere fleeting backwards glance. How is the warrior that once stood tall so easily forgotten by the many, I am forgotten as though I were dead; I have become like broken pottery.
The powers that be are afraid just as before, I lurk in the shadows waiting to strike once more. The battle lines may have been drawn and the end approaches but yet there is more twists yet to be revealed........"

The line goes silent