The injured king comes to his feet, bewildered that he's been healed. His baby sister, one who is destined not to fight, saved his life. But not by herself, no. Behind her, with proud eyes, are not only his other siblings, but the mighty High King of all of Narnia. The lion who told the siblings they were special.

The lion, a great and honorable beast, came at the most opportune time. When the army needed his help the most, when there was almost no hope left, he came.

Around the children and the great lion, the army of Narnia breaks into cheers, happy to know that the long winter is over. The witch, who was as pale as snow itself, was no more. Her presence all but banished to a dark and forbidden place.

As soon as the battle was won, the army was made clean from their battle scars, the children were rewarded with a gift. As long as they lived; they would be the kings and queens of this wild, yet beautiful land.

With your sword raised high and body ready for battle, how could I not follow you? A spirited leader, in such a young boy. His every decision backed by the ever present lord of the realm.

But we are scared, even with such brave leaders. Against a mighty foe we will face. A powerful witch; as pale as snow and as cunning as a fox. Her mighty powers put fear in the depths of many and few have the courage to stand against her.

The brave young leader; his wild, blonde hair whipping in the wind... he is not afraid. He is willing to fight for those he loves and even fight for those he has never met. Anger, sadness, determination is set in his eyes. We will not lose, he says, for evil cannot reign forever.

With brave howls and saddened screams, we run towards our enemies, knowing full-well some of us will not make it back alive. But to know that we have fought a fair fight to protect those we love, is worth the price.

In and out.
Inhale, exhale.
In and out.
Inhale, exhale.

Fingers gently twitch,
Eyes gently closed.
Breathing as steady and calm
As a summer breeze.

Body tired.
Mind restless.
Breathing even.
Heart steady.

The land of the free,
That’s what they say.
The home of the brave,
That’s what they cry.

What is true freedom?
What is bravery?
Are they a person,
Or just an idea?

Will freedom and bravery,
Heal us... or hinder us?
Can there be such a thing,
As too much of either?

Too much freedom,
Can turn into a lawless land.
Too much bravery,
Can turn a smart man into a stupid one.

Where is the line,
Between too much and too little?
Or Is it so thin,
That we can’t even see it?

So, the question remains.
Are we truly free?
Are we truly brave?

I am writing a poem,
But I have no subject,
There is no direction for me to go.

I am writing a poem,
Whose audience was never there,
A reader who left me on read.

I am writing a poem,
With a heavy heart I try to push forward,
But my feet cannot catch up.

I am writing a poem,
With crying eyes and strained fingers,
I must continue to write.

I am writing a poem,
With no subject or reader,

I am writing my poem... alone.