His armor is the first you see
You remember him as a warrior
A man you don’t talk down to
And give way when he is coming through.
People talk of his battle scars
As if they were right there to see them
They speak of him in circles
Though hardly anyone truly knows
What is beneath it all.
What color are his eyes?
Who does he love?
Where does he even live?
Did he want to fight
Or fight to live?
They know him
But they don’t.
Not really anyway.
It doesn’t happen very often, but sometimes someone will write to me with a poem idea, and ask me to write it. Today, I was asked to write this, and hopefully it contains what he wanted it to say. Thanks everyone for reading my writing. It went from a catharsis to simply something I had to do over the years, and I’ve really enjoyed it, and I hope you have too.
Josephine Ranes 
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