The Fight?
WARRIOR
A Warrior, she’s often been,
obsessed with other lands.
In tending to her freedom, so
content to raise her hand.
Yet even in the midst of war,
surrounded by alone
she knew t’was might that brought her here,
and sliced her to the bone.
This Warrior has sheathed her sword.
Its glint may dull, at will.
Her wounds, now tender’d, body bathed.
Her feet now soft and still.
All wagers off, she’s settled in,
sworn enemies released and whole.
Old Warrior, the time is nigh
to find yourself at home.
An Elegant Mind’s Handbook
When I wrote this poem, I struggled with the word old because of its degenerative connotations. However, in this context, old means being weary of the fight.
Everywhere we turn we are observing a battlefield. Whether it be in the international theatre of war, or in the recesses of our minds, we often find ourselves conflicted. Do I fight? Or do I accept? Sometimes accepting means giving in or giving up…but, it’s all in the way you cast your eyes…
When I thought of what the fight implies, the list was comprehensive:
We fight our nature as a human animal, thinking it’s animalistic.
We fight our 1st Nature, that which we came to life to express.
We fight to be a singularity while hating being separate.Â
We fight our reality.
We fight sickness and disease.
We fight for the right to fight for what’s right.
We fight those who oppose us.
We fight for those who agree with us.
We fight to be heard.
We fight to be included.
We fight to be left alone.
We fight the ideology of others.
We fight our own thoughts.
We even fight for peace. (Does anyone else think this is insane?)
We fight for our limitations.
We must stop fighting and embrace the person we have the potential to become.Â
A battlefield makes for poor farmland. Everyone, including the owner of the field, is intent on blowing shit up.
This I learned once I was willing to give up the fight.
Photo credit: Vecleezy.com
Originally Published on https://akasha111blog.wordpress.com/