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
Popular posts from this blog
The Moles Never Learn I found myself walking in the snow, my head aching with a sharp pain. I feel the back of my head, there is something crusted upon the rear of my skull. I dig my nail carefully into it. I can feel the crust collect beneath my nail like dirt. As my feet trudge through the sixteen inches of snow I look to my nail and there in my nail is blood. Dried cells of my body. Upon seeing this I become confused with worry. I place my hand once again upon my bloodied skull and began to examine it. I slide my index finger like the bristle of a broom, back and forth trying to see what wound had allowed such blood upon me. But after several seconds of feeling about, I find nothing. No scratches, no lacerations, nothing. My worried confusion musters down to mere confusion. I rub my eyes as I am strangely held with a slight daze. As if I have been interrupted from a deep sleep. And the evening air is not helping my situation. I am comfortably wrapped for a day tr
The Blameful Two The world broke as their hearts bled the shadows of their misery. Seeping upon the world, flooding with the scars of agony. Their eyes trembling beneath the moonlight as their blood stained hands shimmer. Their lips sewn as each is caught in a lie. Both bare, exposed to their duality. Their curtains drawn thus unmasks the bodies they have slain. The skeletons of truth dragged through the spoils of deceit. Each, unwilling to speak. Their cheeks flush in rose petals. Their skin taut to the anxiety of their arrest. They are now the victims of themselves and each the other. Two hell's preached in the underbelly of their weakness. The fraudulent thought in avoidance of pain. And now they stand as nude as the beginning of life, Adam and Eve. Shaking, they are without words. Silent, bearing only tears that fall to the blood soaked floors. The dark whirlpools of hypocrisy. Neither is without sin and neither is without murder. Their souls weep dearly a
I Had Forgotten Red smoke plumes in the air. A brilliant, yet daunting sky of clouded crimson thickens the sky in sheets of billowed cotton. It rises with no sense to stop. The atmosphere frightens, yet heightens the senses with a strange tingle of pleasure. We are losing our homes to the natural order. Yet I am not taken by tears, but by an odd joy of entertainment. For too long have I adhered myself to these pieces of physical wealth. Yes, through struggle, persistence and consistent efforts I have dawned myself with such rewards. But for too long now, I have forgotten the path I had been taken. I had forgotten the many beads of sweat I spewed from the exhaustion to gain such things. I had forgotten the lonely misery I had fought. I forgotten the friends that lifted me, the moments that tore me down only to bring me higher. I had forgotten the delicacy of a flower. The aromas of nature the beauty within myself and the beauty so naturally displayed around me. So m