Battle Cry

Preparation; staring into space
lost, roaming the recesses.
Bleakness beckons, not from afar;
caught in the crosshairs.

Darkness invades hallowed halls,
searching for a chink in the armor.
Metal compromised and tainted;
strength tested, undisciplined but malleable.

No commander; marching as solitary self,
frightened by the scene that unfolds.
Stripped to bare essentials, uniform no longer;
the unblemished soldier challenged.

Blind to the minefields of the psyche,
seeing only the inevitable and illegible.
Third eye searches for clarity, destroys camouflage.
Strategic plan calls for powerful artillery now.

Consumed by the process; terrified by the content;
maneuvers previously unknown are employed.
Depths are bridged, self-imposed barriers stormed.
Access is tardy, but not denied.

It’s real here, deep down in this foxhole;
going under, then over the edge, up and down.
Too much time to analyze,
no time to sort the images or reactions.

Wielding the blade, yet stabbed from behind,
caught unaware; now fully alert to the danger.
Knowing only I can save myself is a daunting prospect,
but one known when I accepted the mission.

Eyes shut, but pupils wide;
the myths slaughtered, the truth discovered.
No vacancy here for subterfuge.
Introspection heals deep-seated wounds.

Not a bloody battle.
Tears fall along with the enemy.
Dragons are slayed without swords;
unrest is overcome.

Peace is restored, composure regained,
intangible but genuine profits garnered;
the combat well worth the battle scars.
Overwhelming victory.