Lament of the warrior

My enemy lingers before my eyes
like dark smoke.

Within me, I carry a profound longing for suffering.
Not from hatred for my core,
but from reverence for my foe.

For they are the ones who, while wounding me,
become my shield;
who, while striking me down,
summon me once more from the ashes.

For years, I have borne a weariness so deep
that I have not encountered
a single hostile gaze.

I was abandoned and unemployed.

Everywhere, smiling faces.
Everywhere, empty laughter.

And among them,
I could only scowl with my soul.

What has happened to the spirit of warriorhood?
Is there no one who will meet me with a sword?

None who will say, "I despise you,"
and, in condemning my very being,
compel me to fall in love with myself?

I do not know how to live without rivals;
I need to be challenged so that I may challenge in turn.

I was kneaded by war;
it is not pain but comfort that kills.

I do not know rest;
struggle is the substance from which I was shaped.

I was created by war;
it is not peace but war that is eternal.

It is not anger that dwells within me.

Were I angry,
I would shout and rage.

What lives in me is chivalry,
one that lies beyond even honor.

I do not know what remains
when nothing is left to challenge.

I do not know what I shall become
when there is no mountain left to climb.

I rebel against nothing.

Victory lies in defeat.

I am merely the incarnation of an ancient defiance.

― Atrona Grizel