Warrior

And then came the rains,

Enervated with the ennui of the skirmishing seasons.

They had promised to wash away the bedraggling hurt,

That had seeped somewhere deep inside,

Staining the breath of me.

And then sprung the pain,

That I had been saving for this opportune moment.

A moment to sift through its own duration.

To take a pause in the scrimmage to make a mark upon the world.

To refuse the will of the world and the chaos that rule it.

To sweep away the traces of helplessness brewing up inside.

To quell everything that smothered the already latent vapid rages of hope.

Benumbed yet still aglow with the flickers of an unequivocal vow.

To strip the soul from the clutches of an unnamed fear,

To snatch the sickness adhering to the self,

And watch it getting ripped apart and float away.

I do not frolick in these moments always.

Though I want to but cannot choose to.

For it is a rarity to locate them in the multitude of impulses that ricochet through the brain every day.

The birth of newer resolves and their eventual defeatist slumber.

Lost almost daily in a haste for the elusive prize.

Not today.

Now they've failed to sneak by.

Balled shut in my fists that punch through the walls of time.

It will be very long,

Before I let them slink away into oblivion again.

The rains have died down.

Inhaling the blessed memory of a freshened future.

The waters have seeped somewhere deep inside.

Anointing the urge to bend the fortunes to my will.

Satiated within the moistened folds of an unrequited earth.