Warrior Poet

There is a fierce battle taking place today
It is a battle, against life, that has always existed
Always shadowing the sun, today, yesterday, tomorrow
Blotting out the light that seeks comfort and truth

There are no true weapons, no armies, simply soldiers
Everyday folk, that walk these condensed slippery streets
Clinging to dreams, like babes to a soft warm blanket
Everyday they walk, everyday they wage this unholy war

Look into the eyes of these soldiers, and you see
The images of countless lives, countless tales
Some are revered triumphs, some shameful guilts
That pain those that move to the call of an invisible drum

What is sad, is they can't even see they are at war
No, they see nothing, but what they desire, driven by greed
And a blueprint for the way the world has been raped
They are blind to everything even as it stares them in the face

Soaked minds, heavy with the weight of the human world
Stained hearts, bleeding, unable to stop the agony
But it should never stop, never falter, never ever fade
For this agony keeps a few alive, hopeful, daring, dreamers

The few who walk amongst them with medals of great valor
Medals of understanding, shining so bright, recognized
Smiled upon by the few who dare travel this way, awake
Warrior poets, the voice of dead ways, and torched tranquility

They are the warriors, and yet they do not fight with brute force
But with sharp words, razor like rhetoric, explosive insights
Battling with word wizardy, selfless sorcery, pushing forward
Till the end, hoping to show the world, profound poetic passion