War torn and battle broken—

I lay down my sword.

Tired in my soul—

I lay down my shield.

This battle has been fought

And continues on whether

I stand ready or not.

My sword brings me no relief

My shield brings me no sanctuary.

I am worn out—ravaged—

I am a warrior with a poet’s soul.

I speak of the truth

But shed blood as I do so.

There is no safe haven

Against the anger this world

Harbors for my kind.

I cannot stand aside and watch

As the blows fall upon us all.

I must fight—I must protect,

But I am weary.

If I could weep for all those

Who have laid down their swords

If I could carry all those

Who could not carry their shields

I surely would.

Yet the only way I can honor

Those who have fallen before me

Is to take up their swords, their shields,

And fight in their memory.

Yet this is not the way to win the battle.

This is not the manner in which I wish

To be remembered.

I shall lay down my sword

And in its stead I shall fight with words.

I shall lay down my shield and

Use my logic and faith to ward off

The onslaught.

Let the arrows pierce me,

I shall battle on.

Let the unkind try to shame me,

I have nothing to feel shame about.

I am the warrior—

And I do not call them my enemy.

We are all human,

But I will speak for my people.