The Quiet Warrior

Scott walks alone in crowded light,? A mask of joy, a heart in night. ?No job to ground, no path in view, ?Just dreams once bright, now lost in blue. He lifts the broken, stays their hand,? When shadows grip and fears expand.? He holds their tears, speaks calm and kind, ?Though storms rage fierce inside his mind. A friend on call, a beacon true, ?He builds the bridge they walk back through.? To every soul who’s sunk so low,? He gives the light he doesn’t show. But when the dusk has stilled the day,? And laughter's echo fades away,? Alone he weeps, no one can hear—? His silence screams, but none draw near. For he's a man—so he was taught, ?To bury pain and show it not.? To smile, to serve, to never fall,? To wear the weight and carry all. His heart is torn by dreams delayed, ?By aching truths he’s not betrayed.? And yet he hopes, he fights, he tries—? To find the dawn in shrouded skies. In therapy he speaks, but still— ?He hides the deepest wounds that kill.? For strong, he thinks, means not to break,? To hold the pain for others' sake. But oh, the strength in tears unshown,? In loving all while he's alone. ?In guiding others to the light, ?While walking blind through endless night. So here’s to Scott, the quiet brave,? The one who gives, the one who saves.? May he one day, without disguise,? Be held the way he helps others rise. Scott W