Clouds are gathering, a storm is imminent,
Pain is on the way; this is my sentiment.
It has been this way since I was born.
The sky grows black and I become forlorn.
It is not new but so very old.
About it, many upon many stories have been told.
I can feel the cold biting my bones.
And it is thrown in my face again; I am alone.
They hurt, the wounds, by which, my body is marred.
So young, yet already I am so very scarred.
Many can be seen and many are hidden.
My mind hurts, for, I have ridden,
To battle times beyond count,
I go alone without even a mount.
Love is my weapon, and truth is my shield.
I will fight to the death; I will never yield.
Yet, victory has escaped me time and again.
Thus I travel home with new scars and new pain.