Oi, Warrior, walking the path of hell,
Forge your soul into a blade full of will.
For heaven’s doors are like blades of steel,
Which never yield —
Until you strike them
With a blade born of hellish will.

A warrior in a deep thicket,
where the path lies hidden,
thoughts are buried in shadows.

Legs hang heavy,
arms bear carved stories,
eyes—emptied of light—
still search for a road unseen.

A silent knight who rode through flames,
Fought the war he could not tame.
He knew the end before the start,
But duty burned within his heart.

He fought not for the songs or fame,
Nor dreamed of honor, nor sought a name.
He walked the path that fate had made—
A road of fire he could not evade.

His back is bent, his breath is weak,
No strength to rise, no words to speak.
Still on his knees, he won’t let go
His sword still burns with steady glow

With trembling hands, he plants it deep,
A spine of steel his soul will keep.
Though body crushed, he stands upright,
A shattered man, but still a knight.

You see defeat when you stare,
Yet did you sense the fear there?
He’s lost the war—but he feels none.
For in his fall… the fight was won.

by (The Soul-Warrior)

I think I was a warrior once—
not of war, but of wounds.
My blade wasn't sharp with steel,
but soaked in silence,
forged from the fire of forgiveness.

I see him—
my past self,
kneeling in the ruins of choices,
bloodied not from battle,
but from bending.

My hand rises—
not in anger,
but to end the echo of suffering.
A mercy...
to silence the screams he swallowed.

But he smiles.
That broken boy with fire in his eyes.
He places his hand on my shoulder and says,
"Congratulations..."

"You endured."

"You didn’t fall. You didn’t give up."
"You wore the spikes like a crown,
bled wisdom from your wounds,
and now—
you are wiser than me."

And in that moment,
the blade in my hand dissolved,
and all that was left...
was peace.