His armor is the first you see

You remember him as a warrior

A man you don’t talk down to

And give way when he is coming through.

People talk of his battle scars

As if they were right there to see them

They speak of him in circles

Though hardly anyone truly knows

What is beneath it all.

What color are his eyes?

Who does he love?

Where does he even live?

Did he want to fight

Or fight to live?


They know him

But they don’t.

Not really anyway.


It doesn’t happen very often, but sometimes someone will write to me with a poem idea, and ask me to write it. Today, I was asked to write this, and hopefully it contains what he wanted it to say. Thanks everyone for reading my writing. It went from a catharsis to simply something I had to do over the years, and I’ve really enjoyed it, and I hope you have too.00000000000000000000000000000000000000000000001