War Cry

Searching for answers to questions I cannot control
standing up straight, picking up the eyelids that were let wet four score
I cannot control those alien things ; That which seemed vacant everlong,
Emotions.　 That which a man burdened by his own hands can dull.
Numb with vices and run from whats behind him.
Forgetting that there is a future. there is tomorrow.　
Get tomorrow being dead out of that weary head
Be what consumes the spider caught in its own web.
Let those eyes dampen if necessary,
let your hands cradle your face as it were.
But remain strong, this is not a display of weakness.　
This is a display of self control.
This is a release of the hatred one has held for themselves.
Breathe deeply friend, you can sleep well.
Disallow the panic to exasperate your heart valves.
Ones mind is the greatest enemy in times of strife;
It can learn to use as if a crutch that which is a vice.
Breathe for those who cannot breathe as you do,
Cherish that which has come to pass, good or bad
forgetting never, there is hope.　
There Is Hope.
Need not your hands cradle your head as it has,
with uplifted spirits we are capable of being better.
With forgiveness for your own reflection one can move on-
Never stop moving.　
Because forward is the precursor ;
Pain may be a catalyst, but it is no place to live
As if pain were your muse or heavenly gift.　
Do not smear with your own misanthropy
the faces of those who try only to support.
Never again take for granted being adored.
Strike down that which binds your body,
that which attempts to hold back progress.　
Apply dilligently the effort eternity requires.
Exert forcefully the new found judgement in your character.
Engage triumphantly in the war to win back what you love.
More importantly, to earn back others love.
Only time can mend those wounds that never bled.
That never bleed.　
Take the lessons hard learned on your beaten path,
And use them as you would any tool.
I have been that which I hate,
but I have witnessed others strength.
Take not the hand of self pity.
Pity is the tongue in which the devil speaks.
Disillusion is his translator.
I am now not only strong.
I may very well be the strongest man to carry on.