I have been bloody knuckled, blister ooze
skin tight with the hum of Victory, too thick
with battle to sleep with the gentle night.
When I close my eyes I am standing there
heel pressed to Truth, for decades I have cast
myself upon the altar of Reality, split palm
with the dagger of Purpose, felt nothing.
This is what I was taught, what I was trained for.
Take up, hold fast the glistening sword of Hope
and know you are Worthy, know the way it gathers
in your throat, how it stings, this is the taste of Destiny.
Leave no survivors, salt the earth with Faith, lay waste
to the fields that speak their seeds of Doubt into the
trembling mouth of the wind. This is your inheritance.
There is no life without violence, it walks out of our cradle
or it comes thundering in. Is this choice or is this prophecy?
