Little soldier, always swinging away at the shadows that threaten to steal your light

Never knowing the peace of a time outside of battle

Unaware of what your vulnerable flesh looks like underneath all that armor

Do you remember a time when your weren’t sleeping with one eye open?

When you weren’t afraid to blink out of fear that what you have would be lost?

Even when the commander has ordered you to stand down, you prepare to pounce

It’s not your fault.  If it’s all you know, it’s all you can do

You’ve been made into a warrior, mistakenly abandoning any possibility of comfort

What happens when you realize the war has won and you’re sent home to live?

Do you know what that feels like?  Are you joyful that you can rest?

Or does the thought of unclenching your sword make you apprehensive? 

He tells you, “You can stop now.  It’s over.”

And you reply with honesty, “I was taught to be a soldier.  To fight to my death.

Yet death has not found me.  I’ve been given what I’ve fought for.

But I’ve lost sight of what I’m living for.  I only know hostility.

If I stop now, I’m over.”

 

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