There are no warriors left.
Nothing but tired souls with glazed over eyes,
Silver and milky.
And I know we are in trouble,
Because this is happening more consistently.
It happened again last night.
I got a call from a friend;
He was starved and separated from our kind.
He wasn’t himself.
This man had an anthem heart
With loud speakers on each shoulder,
An elaborate iron headdress,
And the suitable frame to carry that weight.
But here tonight,
My ears could only make out one sound:
It was the sound of crumbling.
A sound that only added to
The pile of ruins that he was becoming.
His words were dark and strangled:
Statements like “I don’t know what I’m doing anymore”
Or, “I think I’ll go get a real job.”
So it was hard not to feel like
We were losing another one to their side.
It’s the sane and responsible
Vs. dreams and the committed.
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