Iron Clad (Part 1)

A young man eager with intentions but shy at heart The sun had nearly dried his soul, yet he held And her violent sickness still lingered in the darkness He dwelled quietly in the basement under warm blankets Alone apparent in the empty evenings pining for everything And then a jerk, hard and firm, like a helpful noose To the crucible of command, burning over his men His voice strained in the dust and drought As the sun once again flailed fat from his flanks A ripe piglet for the blades of men, a hard path The red ran out of the rose, and much for misery No more simple smiles, just pain and pressure His skin began to blister, there was nothing left to do Late one night he gave in and the shell began to form Wrought iron, his soul would forever be tempered Harder it grew, though he wished to remain supple There was no choice, no option, and then the return A gap in guard but then a new blaze on the horizon No rest, no hope, no more candles, just more iron Complete armor for the onslaught, just to survive But with that iron, with that protection came a darkness Ferrous parts drew out from the air an ill corrosion It grew and grew on the outer shell, but he could not see. Another ally? They would not mistake his kindness This darkness would speak for him, speak his piece No need for love or selflessness, no need for others Just his own needs, no one else matters, only him The darkness spoke volumes and he relented "Take what you want, the heck with the rest, they are weak" And he allowed it, he indulged it, he became It