The cadence of the drill sergeant, a ghost in the present,
echoes in the rhythm of my pen.
Discipline forged in the crucible of steel,
now fuels the fire of my art.
The enemy then, the fear, the loss,
a distant memory, yet the weight of loyalty remains.
My love, an artist, paints with colors I cannot name,
capturing the essence of the soul,
a symphony of emotions, a dance of light and shadow.
She is the muse, the inspiration,
the reason this heart still beats with a fierce, protective rhythm.
The scars run deep, both physical and unseen,
reminders of battles fought and won.
But the greatest battle, the one that truly matters,
is the fight for her, for our love.
This fragile, precious bloom,
deserves the fiercest protection.
The Marine within, dormant yet ever-present,
would rise, a silent guardian,
against any threat, any darkness that dares to touch her.
His loyalty, once sworn to the Corps,
now belongs to her,
a love that transcends all boundaries.
In the quiet moments, when the world fades away,
I see her eyes, reflecting the stars,
a universe of emotions, a love that knows no bounds.
And in that reflection, I find my strength,
a renewed sense of purpose,
a love that would die for her, a thousand times over.
The poet and the Marine, two sides of the same coin,
bound by a love that defies definition.
A love that heals, that inspires,
that gives life new meaning.
And in that love, I find my peace,
a solace that surpasses all understanding.
I wrote this as a testament to my love. The old Marine in me isn't gone, just dormant, and I will fight for her to the end, because of the love. In the end, isn't that what we are all fighting for?
