the cross I carry falls away from me;
the weight of its heaviness cracking the foundation.
In agony my breaths are labored.
Eyes that gaze see beauty and devastation.
Duality tears me asunder;
I am filled with love, but a timid boy no longer;
to survive, I confront the terror
with a merciless heart, and weapons of war and armor.
Many battles have hardened my once soft exterior
and have made me stronger.
I weep no more because of the abandonment of my father,
and in my weariness, I remember the love of my mother.
I lean on my mighty sword to steady myself when the blood runs
and strike the terror again with fearless rage and precision.
One day the terror came and deeply wounded the boy with the bright smile,
so the terror must face its reckoning from the rage of a broken child.
He is not merciful, nor will he hear the terror when it cries;
He will continue to strike with fury, even after the terror dies.
He will slay the terror — and the terror’s lies,
to revive the soul of the boy that once brightly smiled.