You are a warrior.
In the morning you put on your captain’s coat and lead an army of dreams into battle,
Your face set and sealed like the envelope folded in your back pocket,
A list of demands to your king.
You beat rhythms of war into concrete with your footsteps,
They echo off buildings and sneak though windows,
Impregnating the minds of peaceful men with visions of glory,
A gilded parasite.
You handle your weapon like an untamed beast,
You stroke its twisted lengths of steel as if to tame its roar,
Yet you feed it your unwanted sorrows,
And with dry eyes watch it cry your unshed tears.
Your enemy is made of fear and sits unflinching on the horizon.
He flies white flags but you see only ghosts,
His restless victims drifting in the breeze,
Waiting to reclaim what’s long been lost to false obligation.
I see you on the front lines of chaos,
Telling all that will listen tales of combat,
But you need not strain your voice.
For those who care to read them the lines etched across your furrowed brow tell a story older than your calloused hands.
At night you return to your lover,
Her crystal tongue as sharp and unforgiving as the grave she threatens to become.
In the darkness your fidelity goes unnoticed beneath a shroud of celestial flame,
Your promises like marbles falling to the ground, resounding cracks of thunder as they bounce off each other and are gone.
Yet your foe is in retreat,
Be it only for the time it takes for you to slip for a moment into a world where your soul is released from its wooden casket to breathe freedom,
A thought that slows the drum and softens the call,
And allows you at last to rest.