the warrior

there's a flame in my heart,
as I pick up my sword,
and a shield I have to carry,
there's a mantra that moves
my pursed lips,
as I draw one long breath
without a hurry;
there's a drum that beats
inside this ravaged skin,
leading me through
an ancient dance,
there's a vision that holds me
in these bloodshot eyes,
threshing me, shaping me
into a helpless moth
in a surreal trance;
there's a rush in my veins
as I take each step,
not knowing where and how
I ought to flow;
there's a whisper I hear
in my untapped ears,
speaking the heart
of a world
looking to grow;
'don't look outside
for that someone to lead',
she says,
'there's no one there
to lean on, or follow,
look within,
gather your troops,
and speak your truth,
resounding

from the walls
of that boundless hollow';
and so I go,
with my head held high,
always ready to bow,
for the shield I carry
is not to protect myself,
but to hold that vision
in this patchwork shell,
for an unborn tomorrow.