Indestructible presence

My mind knew everything my soul had ever held.
Only my body faltered, then surrendered to the ground.
I dissolved into the rubble, and the world vanished.

The war did not end; it only intensified.
The gunfire grew distant, muffled.
Tanks rolled across what remained of me.
Soldiers marched past without ever noticing me.

And yet I did not die; I did not fade.
I never understood why, only that I was still there.

Quietly, I raised my head from the ruins.
To this desolation, I entrusted the aim
to which my life had long belonged.

This was the barbaric horde, and they sought to tear away my monastic robe.

The enemy stood across the line,
unchanged in their familiar place.
The same hardened faces, the same hostile eyes.
How clumsy they were, how cowardly their stance.

They could never take my soul; they could not even break my body.
They could never erase my existence; they could not win the battle.

I have grown weary of living, yet I remain unable to die.
The warrior does not die easily; he only gets proven posthumously.
The visionary withers only by the decree of their own destiny.
The flesh is but a vessel for the mind, which the air cannot carry.

The steadfast do not break or fade.
They cannot unmake me; my life is mine alone.
Until I choose the final blade, no bullet shall ever pierce my armored frame.
And then shall I whisper to their minds: you could not rid yourselves of my presence.
Quietly, without ceremony, shall I proclaim: by eliminating the context, you have rendered me everywhere.

― Atrona Grizel