PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

I look out at the scarred battlefields of my soul and every where I look all I see is devestation and reminders of those that once fought beside me.  Their graves marked by simple totems, each of them embedded within me.  I look back to them, touch them and try to draw what comfort I can from the memories that we shared, of the fights we fought and won, and in the end those we lost.  I sit here in this valley and look at the steep embankments seeing no way out but fowards.  I try to garner what strength I can, but I am weary.  Not weary of body, but of self.  A weariness of the soul that seeps into my bones.  In a whisper I hear, "It's okay.  You don't have to fight anymore."  And oh, how I want to listen to that voice, to lay down and let the moss grow over me, wrap around me like a warm blanket and rock me to sleep.  But I can't.  I can't resign myself to the earth just yet.  There is still too much to do, too many miles to tread.  So I leave this small oasis and continue into the sunblasted fields, feeling the strike of the forging hammer come crushing down against me, sending sparks blazing forth and lighting fickers of flames around me.  And there in the darkness, a new light.  A small glimmer of hope that has my feet begrudgeningly moving one in front of the other.  Like the ass that trudges blindly chasing the carrot that dangles just out of it's reach, I will continue forward, whispering withing my mind the words that have become a mantra, "One more step, one more and you can rest, one more and you can find peace.  One more.  One more.  One more."  Silently, step by step I moves through the valley, carrying with me a small flicker of light, striving to one day find that which will grant me peace.