THE WARRIOR STUMBLES

In the deepest, darkest heart of mine,
I crawl across a broken line
and with this cross I bare and carry.
This happened on a midnight dreary.

In a cold, dark alleyway,
there came a soul that I do pray.
All black and sad with burning skin,
straight from hell, and dipped in sin.

In my eyes, so quiet and gray,
I saw what was his final day.
Green and blue with a tinge of red,
sure enough his heart was dead.

In the snow …covered white.
In the blackest, deepest night,
My hand rests gently on his throne,
which is 6 feet deep…and carved in stone.

Journal Comments

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