The Warrior Awakens

Once, I walked in shadows, blind to my own weight,
A man who bent, who waited, who let the world dictate.
I sought their hands, their nods, their whispered soft embrace,
But found myself unanchored, a ghost without a place.

A storm broke in my chest, not sudden—but a creep,
A slow and aching fury from the years I let them keep.
She took, she spun, she lied, she bled my will bone-dry,
And when I roared, they called it rage—never asked me why.

But no more shall I kneel, no more shall I fade,
A man without purpose is a weapon unmade.
I forge now in silence, in sweat and in steel,
In footsteps on pavement, in burdens I feel.

My body will harden, my mind will not break,
I walk now with warriors, not wolves in my wake.
My sons will not see me as meek or unsure,
But a pillar, unshaken—a force that endures.

The dawn will not find me still lost in my bed,
I rise with the battle, not thoughts in my head.
My calendar marks not the things that I “try,”
But the blood of a past self, the one left to die.

For discipline is freedom, and pain is the way,
I step into fire, I do not delay.
The warrior awakens, no longer confined,
By love undeserved or the chains of the mind.

I walk, I lift, I breathe, I own,
No man will command me—I stand alone.
And when she looks back, when the world takes its glance,
They will see not the man they once left in a trance,
But a storm in his stance, a war in his veins,
A king, not a beggar—unbound from his chains.