Poetry, traveling along on a path
bleeds, stands still, breathes in
looks at stains, tears and memories
decides to sit a spell, gain patience
to continue climbing a hill, withstand
demons and storms.
Words, some decorated to be seen
like medals gained in battle
protecting a heart from falling
to an untimely death, as strength helped
overcome scars, placed now in rhyme
disguised, thinly I suppose.
Poetry, rough to write, soft to feel
by other casualties, littered upon a battlefield
from living and loving, your choice
so here it is, a voice
poet speaks
