I heard about this Warrior Poet;

He moves through life with grace.
He acts upon his intuition,
Peace commands his face.

It may appear he doesn’t feel,
No outward love of life,
Transcendent highs or wicked lows,
No single trace of strife.

Beneath that stoic countenance,
A world one cannot see,
This type of force, a gale wind,
Contained in energy.

It is the sky, it is the earth, it is the early morning moon,
It is the mountains, drops of rain, a subtle hearty tune.
And all that’s dead and all that breaths,
And all that lives to fight,
This is the Warrior Poet’s way,
To be a guiding light.

Through actions, he does seldom speak,
If only through a smile,
Connected to the past, it seems, within is but a child.
One who is strong and one who cares,
He loves with all his heart;

If he had just one last day,
To leave his lasting art,
He’d want to spend his time with you to make you feel alive,
To see the world as magical,
Before he’d say goodbye.

And through the struggle and the pain,
The Warrior gives every last drop,
Of what he has and who he is,
No way to make him stop.

I heard about this Warrior Poet,
Asked where it is I’ll find him.

Look to the stars, came a small voice,
To understand the choice;
It may be dark, but you will see,
He’s every drop of you and me.