I have laid down my life as I laid down my gun
the battle is over
I don't know who won
their side our side
does anyone care when it's all  said and done?
Long ago and far away
at very the end of the hardest day
when silence falls on the blood red, mud red, grass
will anyone remember what came to pass?
Young men die and old men weep
for comrades lost and the memories they keep
hugged to themselves till their time is done
a long life haunted by the shadow of the gun.
I have no name
war took it from me
a symbol, instead of the lad I used to be

Hey. I know it hasn't been easy for you lately. It never was.
You feel alone in the darkness.
You feel lost. It hurt's.
You are tired. Tired of fighting in battles.
Fighting to do new things, and improve yourself.
Many wounds did not recovered yet.
Yet you are still here,
Fighting in the middle of the battle in your life.
Maybe it is one of the battles that will decide your fate,
Who knows.
I know that you don't get the rest and happiness you want.
That people don't even seem to help you.
They just judge you.

But may I tell you something. Who are they?!
Who are they, to tell you that you can't, that you are bad,
that you should change?! Who are they?
You have been in war for so long that it became your home.
There is no silence, rest, and happiness.
But you still have the goal and destination.
You still can have a piece of art, poetry, beauty, and love.

Maybe it's not so much to enjoy,
maybe not every day is sunny and beautiful and filled with love.
But yet there is something, that makes you feel alive.

I know it's hard sometimes, it seems like it will never change.
You are tired, exhausted, sad, broken, hurt, lost, alone, in pain.
I am not going to make the pain, problem, or bad things go away.
But I am here because somehow the World, God, or the Universe wanted you to read this.
It was a part of your life, maybe not a big one, but at least it is there, it always was there for you, waiting in silence.
Waiting for you to fall down on your knees and cry out loud.

Now listen to me,
Listen carefully. Be brave, be strong, be happy, be smart, be alive.

Take the heavy sword that is covered with dirt and with your own blood.
Take it up, that heavy, strong sword to protect yourself and to win the battle.
Look around,
There are so many kind people who love and care about you.
There are so many beautiful landscapes and places that are waiting to be discovered by you.
And the most important, your destination. It is waiting for you.

So soldier, are we retreating, or shall we try and survive this battle, maybe even win it.
Your commands?

In a wordy battle with trivial dogmatic mentalities , I win by sandwiching my perspectives between my upper lip tubercle and lower lip tubercle.

Heaven clears its coward clouds
crows ascend and ravens caw
as a man unfazed and proud
greets aloud the Devil's maw

the land trembles at his spear
sunlight screaming on his shield
as his roar defeats the fear
and vibrates far into the field

the coming shadow of his foes
stretches further than he sees
so his gaze begins to glow
for he is where he's meant to be

a growl of courage and respect
rises from one hundred men
their lives ready to neglect
for those they'll never see again

the Earth quakes with endless herds
the burning sky begins to fall
his throat bulges its last words
and they bellow, "SHIELD WALL"

spears are laid their final hands
the heavy metal claps together
as brothers like their fathers stand
their mortal souls obtain forever.

In the veins where honor churns
the pulse of rage begins to tear
for the men who won't return
there is not a life to spare

and so it is

on a rock an ocean crashes
today men, tomorrow ashes
spear thrusts and shield smashes
for the lakes and for the grasses
for the name that never passes
and the star that always shines
their motherland, asleep behind
with the old and with the blind
with the children and the wives
the very womb that gave them lives

faces crack against their steel
footmen cry and captains kneel
a line of slaughter walled by zeal
brings each wave of slaves to heel
while the vultures praise their meal
the blade is swung, the pain ignored
necks are slit and skulls are gored
legs are worn and arms are sore
as fervor beats the chest's encore
like thunder drums the hum of war

blood with sweat in dust is bathed
no son is spared, no farewell bade
no grave is made, no boatman paid
a god was deaf when mothers prayed
alone they march the death parade
as the birds consume their spleens
all that's left is silent trees
who as tombs attend the scene
to absorb unto their gleam
what it's like to have been free

over yonder, in freedom somewhere
a daughter's silent cry implores
for her seesaw is still there
but its maker is no more.

Down a path where arteries will meet the scythe.
Deceased silhouettes suffocating in defeat.

A spark struggles to illuminate the way before the feet.
cloaked in disbelief, conversing with grief.

Climbing an empty ladder,
dreams clustered beyond reach.
With worn bones aiming to reach beyond the known peak.