The Battle

A lone child stands,

screaming into the wind.

He has battled his demons

and ghosts so long,

he has grown old beside them.

His eyes are swollen

from the storm of tears,

and he swings wildly

at every touch,

unable to tell the difference

between friend and foe.

He is fiercely determined to

hold his fighting stance,

not seeing that his bones

have grown twisted,

shaped by the tortuous steps

of this cruel dance.

They would resist if ever

he were to try to walk away.

Eventually, all grow weary

of dodging blows, and

retreat to a safer distance,

to watch this solitary, 

raging figure as he battles

in an empty field...

and the wind blows, and

the grinning demons swoop,

and feint, and draw blood.

He is so very tired,

he will soon be on his knees,

and only those that care

enough to listen closely

may hear the voice

that rides the wearing wind,

crying out, "I want to stop!

Help me, PLEASE!!"