The Warrior

don't pull out
your staggering sword,
don't work out
to the end of your breath,
don't carve your muscles
out of your porous skin,
to brandish and soak
in the blood of glory
flowing through your words;

for when you are spent
and return home,
from a battle
you thought you'd won;
you'll feel the longing
and the emptiness return,
your eyes brimming
with the softness
of withheld tears,
your skin smarting
from the raw tenderness
of old untended wounds,
your breath falling
like a forgotten coin
into the empty hollow within;

and then, you will know
how to hold
the love of your life,
in every step you take,
what battles you must
take on and fight,
and when to lay down
your arms with grace;
and you will know
you can pick up
the waiting chisel,
instead of a swiveling sword,
to carve your heart
upon the fiercest chest,
the true warrior
who is up, for every test.