Not a warrior
There’s magic beneath his eyes,
sometimes dark, sometimes white,
a spell that binds,
or a spell that hides.
There’s a fight inside his heart
beating like a drum (of war).
It goes on and on,
another victim, another body dropped.
And it hurts to know
that he won’t win
because he’s fighting alone.
But I found myself
again under his spells
trying to see, trying to help.
There’s warmth coming from his hands,
sometimes slow, sometimes fast,
a touch that burns,
and a touch that calms.
There’s so much inside his head,
making him lose his mind.
It goes on and on,
another ghost, another live spurned.
But I found myself
at his side again
trying to fight, trying to help.
And maybe it won’t work,
and the war will go on.
Or maybe it will,
and I’ll end in an unmarked grave.
