RMC

Conflict is thick
as if stone inside the bone.
Clouds that move quickly
saturate the ground I call home.
In comfort, there is still hurt,
and in the world, mercy is rare.
Afflicted by battles, my shirt
I rip to show the scars I bear.

Yet the sun shines
through billows of clouds,
speaking answers that say
you are not alone, my son, the Lord speaks loud.

My home, body, and soul
that the earth pulls me to
shrouds with its clouds
of slander that arrows through.
Honesty I take to battle
as my bones wear and tear.
My home was a warm soul
while the walls there are scarce.

I must build barriers
and garrisons around my heart.
For the arrows that find marks
they tear my soul apart.

My word and my motives
come from a pure place.
Yet I battle demons in and out
that make my heart debate.

The scars, they are there,
as I move with them hidden.
I have marked my thin skin
with tokens to keep demons ridden.

Honesty is my axe
that I hack at stone with,
but the stone in the bone
makes the blade dull so I miss.

I face who I am
so that I might confront a realm
that nature has made before me.
History is not at my helm.

Words in battle mean nothing
for they come from rage I am not.
Words from battle are but ashes
from a time I left, I forgot.

The scars, they remind,
so I have diverted my stare
to the marks I’ve made for battle
against the hurt because I care.