Thursday, September 27, 2007

The Warrior

Oh bitter moments are what feel truest,
living in the cold truth of despair;
or is it pain that brings us the purest,
existing our limits knowingly declare.

We fight our battles and wage our wars,
trudge on through mud and muck,
struggle for adventure on far off shores,
yet, triumph for a beauty not by any luck.

The scars and bruises prove us as men,
pushed to the brink showing our grit.
Now we have earned a time to tend
to memories we will ne'er forget.

Our beauties call us with lust and lure,
beckon to follow them to bed.
The spoils we have taken for sure,
happy that scars have not left us dead.

Time earned to sit and think,
gray haze in a peaceful night.
Thoughts blood helps sink
vivid memories as clear as sight.

So, we grow dour and old
there is no more battle for our bones.
Ere, we die and travel to heaven
there are angels with swords, God on his throne.

He smiles as you enter and calls down
"Welcome warrior, you battled well.
You stared at danger, earned your crown,
thus I say faithful, here you may dwell."

-A

3 comments:

Thomas Banks said...

The last stanza's damn fine.

adam brown said...
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barb michelen said...
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