The world on his shoulders

Once again, THIS is poetry! This poet sings to my soul!

The Warrior's Pen

He’s been to the deepest of holes,

and to the darkest of rooms.

Felt the cold voice of silence,

and the loudest of booms.

On his shoulders lie calloused wounds,

from the burden of time and hurt.

His broken back and shattered dreams,

testify to his unpaid work.

Still living in the depths of night,

he seeks to bring light near.

He can’t let go of this crushing weight,

his heart is full of fear.

On his feet lie blisters and sores,

his chains drag the ground.

He kicks and screams, writhing in pain,

but no one can hear a sound.

Still living in the deepest of holes,

he dreams of his escape.

Wounds and chains, darkness and pain,

this chance he has to take.

He takes one final leap of fate,

and answered his hearts demands.

The world was never on his shoulders,

it was always in his hands.

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