4:51 AM
Anonymous
This mighty warrior stands,
Shaking like a leaf in the autumn winds,
Humbled and begging on his prayer mat.
His raised hands have asked of no man,
For he sees none worthy of completing his needs,
And turns to Him who is Able.
Every act on the battlefield,
Every moment, accounted for and successful,
And the earth is humbled to him.
The creatures are drawn to him,
Like bees to nectar,
By the fragrance of his ways; and
Perfuming the sin-stenched paths of life,
Lighting them, and giving hope.
He loves and cares for fellow man,
For he serves God,
As only a free man can.
No reward entices him to worship,
Nor do any threats compel him to bow.
His eye has been opened in realization,
Of his insignificance,
And the majesty of the Lord.
Thus he seeks Him, for He is worthy.
He is far sighted, seeing the next world.
Living a simple life, not attracted,
Not enticed by the allure and pomp of this world.
He enjoys the company of the honest,
And is just to all, both friend and foe.
When he is killed, his companions miss him,
With the missing of a mother,
Whose child is slain in her lap.
When he roars, ignominy trembles
For it senses the approaching end.
With his glance,
Falsehood is defeated, brought to its knees.
And when he speaks,
It is mortally wounded, dead and silent.
Then when he acts,
The grave of falsehood vanishes,
No tombstone to mark its once assured existence.
Battling the mighty beast,
The ferocious flame of his desire,
He draws his sword of submission,
From its sheath of obedience,
And strikes desire through the heart.
Killing his self a thousand times,
And then once more,
Till it is vanquished,
And truth emerges victorious.
He is a victor,
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