Enlightening Nonsense

© February 23, 2010 by Swami X

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Shootin’ at the walls of heartache, bang, bang, I am the warrior. Well I am the warrior, and heart to heart you’ll win..if you survive the warrior….the warrior

—“The Warrior” by Pat Benatar

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Scarred and battle worn

He continues to walk the path

Of the warrior

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His image frightens many

For they have been told fairy tales

Illustrated with pictures of allure

Where only beautiful princesses reside

And handsome knights go off to fight dragons

And when they see a real live warrior

Face to face

He looks nothing like the artist’s rendition in the fable

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His hair is knotted and tangled

for he does not worry about how he looks

only staying on the path of service

His eyes are bloodshot

from surviving on little sleep

mostly because there is always evil to confront

partly because of all the innocents who have perished by his sword

His body made up of muscle and sinew contains no extra padding

for he does not have the luxury of five-star restaurants

or attending “business dinners” that are none of his business

His skin has been slashed, cut, burned and bruised

from all manner of weapons

and so he looks like a walking map

with lines depicting the markings of the ridges and valleys

of the terrain he has covered so far

And his heart at times seems icy

for he will not allow it to distract him from his purpose

as it makes him vulnerable to attack

and it only seems to hurt all who it touches

for they want him to stay by their hearths forever

and burn with anger when he leaves to continue his journey

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He takes lives that are useless

Like most swat a fly from their hand

And while pain is almost always left in its wake

a crater after a bomb

a tombstone forever marking its destruction

He never stops to mourn the dead

For the dead belong in the ground

And the living belong above it

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It is a lonely path

That of the warrior

But he serves not himself

But a higher principle

And while at times he wonders what it would be like

to rest his blistered feet

to have a hot bath and a warm meal

and to have someone touch him

deeper than has been done

with fists and broken bottles and swords and empty words

to give him a kind smile

instead of spitting at him with saliva and curses and rocks

He never stops walking his path

For then someone else would have to do it

And he wouldn’t wish this life on anyone

This entry was posted on Tuesday, February 23rd, 2010 at 10:51 pm and is filed under Poetry. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.