You're heart is a battleground. Wounded with misery, streaming down the corridor of your walls like paint drying upon canvass, a crimson hue. Echoes of warriors yell from the suffering you have beard and shall bear.
It beats with vigor but holds graves of many. Transformed in each battle you have lost something, but gained much more. Though you are a rhythm of pain, there is beauty in the gloom. The fields at which you fought now spread with golden wheat.
Eagles soar in the fresh winds in the feasting of varmints as you move on. Brave, unwavering to the endless bouts of suffering. Unsheathing your blade from the vanquishing of your enemies. You have bled love from each wound and have filled the veins of your flesh with heartbreak.
But have fought your way to cleanse the polluted rivers of your heart. You have never been silent in the abuse of self, nor in scene of your enemies attempts to murder. To split you from faith like the splitting of children in a broken marriage.
Weak, resentful, with a coaxed need of anger. You have stead fast, calling out the enemies hidden in the brush. Charging with fierceness of breath and a soul upheaval by the heavens. You stretch your arms beyond the walls of memories and past.
Bending light to meet your future and walk among tall grass. Holding hands with your scars and wounded that died for your heart. You give no contempt to the evils that bear within. For you have found only exhaustion comes from the consumption grudges.
You have learned to bear your weapons at the ready but be peaceful in your approach to your heart. But are prepared in the defending of it, from the mind. You give breath to the ever growing thoughts that preach of strength, though some days you lay with heavy eyes.
Eyes cast to the darkness as if bedridden of sickness. Yet, you find your way back, giving reason to be still, breathe, and press on. Your vision is no longer at the imprints of your feet, but at the far distant places you have yet to reach.
Your heart, though many times brought to submission, it is now a desire to keep beating. A must, a need, a standard so high, not even the stars can reach. You give into no fear of the painful flashes of memory.
You live to fight through the wars, the storms, the battles, and suffering. You have found your heart, though it be filled with corpses, there is still much ocean, much lands, to be seen and fought for.
Our hearts are a constant battle ground, what do you do to win the fight, to not let your heart fall deep into the tragedies of the mind?
Reach out and grab yourself a copy of, A Man's Traveled Heart
Coming soon, The Bleeding of Words
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