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.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment