The Battle

Sunrise.
A call to arms,
Telling you
its time
to pick up your sword
and don your armour.

Your hands are tired,
your grip weak,
your armour
a crushing weight
laden with grief
and fear
and uncertainty.
You’re gasping for air,
but
still
can’t
breathe.

The drumbeats
echo
the voices
of inner demons,
so loud,
so persistent,
you’re not good enough,
and you never will be.
They drown out
your weak attempts to
sound
a battle cry.

The melee starts
You’re on your own,
Drowning
darkness
all around
hands pulling you down
into a sea of memories.
But somehow
you get by
live
to fight
another day.

Sunset.
A hollow victory.
Tomorrow
it starts
all over again
the pretence,
the conscious effort
to be okay.
When can you lay down
your armour
and rest?

And so it goes,
the days blend
into nights
endless battles
blurring into one.
An endless cycle
of narrow wins
that
somehow feel like
defeat.

Then one day
you open your eyes
to
pink and purple skies
and in your head
you hear only
silence.
Your grip is tight
The armour rests
easy
on your shoulders,
and you can breathe again.

You find your voice,
You sound
a battle cry,
And there’s an answer.
There
beside you
are your people
the family you chose.
With spears
and shields
they tell you,
You don’t have to go
at it alone.

Let us carry your sword
even for
just
a second.
And when
you’re strong enough
to take it up again
Into the breach
we’ll fall
stronger
with each
thundering step,
certain
that
no matter how
this ends,

You’ve already won
the sweetest
victory
of all.