A dust cloud builds along the horizon
The ground rumbles heavier with every march
War cries swell louder, they are drawing nearer
They are gunning for me…coming for me
Â
Six feet apart,
The dust settles, then holds
The wind whistles louder than ever
The atmosphere holds its last breath of peace
Â
The horsemen sit ready on their mounts to charge
The archers nock their arrows ready to fire
The swordsmen bare their blades ready to strike    Â
The spearmen grip their pikes, waiting for the war cry
Â
I take my lone stance
My fists are clenched
My chest is puffed
My feet hold the line
Â
With these bare hands, I break their weaponry
My tough skin taking every strike, each blow a bruise I wear
Holding the last line of defense, standing on a field of broken steel
As the sun bows its head, no warrior stands
Â
Â
Yet when every warrior has been laid to waste
And the final speck of dust has fallen
I tremble at the one figure I am left to face
The one where no Art of War has prepared me
Â
One carrying neither arrow nor sword
Piercing me with eyes that no spike could poke
Cutting through with words no sword could slice
Undoing what an army of hundreds could not breakÂ
Your soft voice echoes louder than any war cry
That delicate touch reaches where no blow could
And suddenly, I find myself losing my footing
Exposing the flaw no warrior had seen beforeÂ
So I forge a new shield
Not one hammered upon an anvil
But one of unanswered questions
And truths sealed in fortified citadels
Â
So, I map my tactical retreats
And rehearse my evasive maneuvers
Making diversions along the paths
Leaving false trails spaced six feet apart
Â
The gates remain barricaded
As the last line of defence
And though you wander the outer courts
The inner sanctum is far beyond your reach
Â
The royal chambers remain hidden within the keep
For if you were ever to reach the heart of the citadel
And see what lies beyond the sealed doors
You may abandon the kingdom and march away
Â
