A Poem for the masses: Type, battle
I am the guardian
I wonder when I'll shatter
I hear the pounding of weapons, the flowing of blood
I see tools of pain; maces, hammers, swords and arrows
I want freedom
I am the shield
I pretend I have no pain
I feel millions of arrows, bolts and dents in my body
I touch the flames and knives
I worry of my undoing, my skeleton broken
I cry on the battle as I am a slave
I am the guardian
I understand my worth
I say "When going down, do it well"
I dream of peace
I try to hide but I shine brightly
I hope of life
I am the shield
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