The Warrior

We were born into this world, without armor or sword, without protective shells or innate defenses of any kind. We were born bear, and of flesh and susceptible even to the microcosmic entities that infiltrate space and hollow sky! Even more unfortunate, some are born with defects, some such that they cannot be undone. Bare and bloodied, timid, vulnerable, unsuspecting, innocent and ignorant, some unloved and unprotected, starving.

Some die. Most grow, and learn and adapt, build protective shells, make their own swords and shields and survive even the invisible aliens that are pathologic to our design. In our growth, we develop and utilize the only thing that was given to us as an asset towards the world's deep and nefarious shadows. The shadows that seeps beneath the skin, rabid and rotten, feeding upon the life and makes the incessant pulse moribund. That one thing within our wells of bones and vessels, less tangible than the senses and multifarious emotions, sentient destination of the neurotic impulses. Not the brain, nor the heart nor any other visceral organ but their purpose for being extant.

The one thing that can reach the shadows and embrace the atrocity or beget the illumination that equips the warrior for true battle against this insidious and heinous darkness. A battle as ancient and immortal as the enmity, of true darkness without and its invasion of the light within.

You know of what I speak, the reason why helpless flesh is so precious, not for what it is but what it enfolds and cradles and that which can engender greater change and power