I'm afraid and weak,
Not by design,
It all comes from,
This unending war,
Yes I take all the wins,
But I'm not without bruises,
Is it worth the trophy?
Or should I just stop?
Carrying and leading from the front,
Taking a back seat in this journey,
Is the best I can muster up,
All things are transient,
Wind and sand in my hands,
What I carry is all real to me,
In this place I am running from.