It is a survival instinct that drives us to fight.
The whisper in our ear that we are weak;
that we are small and soft and easily crushed.
It is the knowledge that we are helpless
that forces our hand,
makes us sweat and bleed to be better,
to be stronger, to be harder to kill.
We’ve been knocking demons off our shoulders
for long enough now,
we don’t fear them like we once did.
We learned that real Evil exists
and so does real Love,
so we have one thing that needs defeating
and one thing that needs defending.
The line in the sand is definite,
we don’t see the world in shades of grey.
We are each defined by our struggle.
Hardship merely provides a surface
suitable for sharpening our weapons.
Each day that we still breathe brings the chance
That we might gain one small step of ground
before the Reaper calls.
Facing the darkness,
never sure if we make the monsters,
or if the monsters make us;
not sure if it matters,
it doesn’t change anything.
It’s not our job to save the world,
but we sure as hell have to live here.
HG – 2016