Old Warrior

As one who’s walked in darkness I can say: Avoid, my son, the paths that I have trod. For, though you may believe yourself a god, The truth is not something you wish away. The day I first strapped on this sheath and sword, I never could envision where I’d end. As overheated steel will break and bend, Each forward step led me to my reward. In battle glorious I made my name. The flames of war burned off what might be weak. I fought and killed with well-practiced technique And earned, I thought, the bounties of such fame. For fortune and for glory I would hunt. And all across the globe for war I’d quest. Each bloody battle just another test To see if it would sharpen or would blunt The weapon I was turning out to be; It was not just my sword that could cause harm; But all of me, heart and brain, hand and arm Could cause as much destruction equally. And every wound that to my foe I’d give Unknowing back upon me would rebound. ‘Twas only so much later that I found The man who deals out death can’t really live. Gaze, my son, upon these many scars. Imagine, if you can, each injury. Not all were given by an enemy But rather the desires of my heart. Broken now, I lie here through the years Unable anymore to freely move. Perhaps I just resent the need to prove That all the pain will never cause me tears In darkness have I walked and now I live If living is indeed what you would name This sad existence filled with sin and shame That I fear even God cannot forgive. For you, my son, I offer but advice: Try to find the hope to rise above The hate I’ve lived, and learn at last to love; The path that might lead you to Paradise.