Bruised and beaten, black and blue,
Climbed the peak, having won the battle.
Sets his fierce eyes on life anew,
To break another limit, the painful shackle.
A tree he spots, to mark with his pug,
He calls it his, this piece of wood.
Engulfed with pride, that stature, the thug,
Sees only the battles he won and the ones he could.
He forgets not those million scars,
The tissues that made him only stronger,
The days he spent behind those bars,
The ones so long, those nights of anger.
Gathers them all in this one mighty breath,
Smears his symbol of rage on this tree,
Announces to the jungle beneath,
He is here, now wild, he is is free.
Letting the roar out, he looks below,
Making his presence felt, majestic, his vibe,
Knowing not what's ahead, the peaks to conquer,
the rivers that flow.
This eternal solitary vibe,
The one I imbibe,
Gives me shivers when I think of him,
My alter ego, the face within.
I share his freedom,
The peace sublime,
And I set out to roam the jungle,
Among the brave, those masters prime.