Glorious Patriarch

 Your pain for glory is insufferably visible. 

It's like a cracking damn; the water seeping through the seams like sand through your fingers.

As distinguishable as fire raging and fueled by winds cradling the licks of flames.

It's tender to hold it in, ignoring that there is burning in your roots.

To pretend like there are no thunderous waves crashing behind your avoiding eyes.

Like the men before you; glory was found in strength and bravery. But strength and bravery are traits only found in combat. 

And so, with the yearning of those prestigious badges you go to war... war with yourself... and war with the world.

Your tactic?

The fierce water against your sturdy earth. You assemble it so secure, the small fissures are now dry. So you shake yourself bare as well.

For the fire; you contest it with your own breath. Expelling your chest as much as your human body will allow. But the flames soar higher. In a final desperate attempt for your victory you breathe deeply. Swallowing the flames into your lungs.

The burning in your throat an inflexible, choking lump. You beat on your chest to cause a distraction from the mutilation.

You have won! Elated, you return triumphant!!

But to your surprise...

No one celebrates you...

No one cares of these disasters you carry.

No one sees the pain these foes cause you.

Your hands begin to tremble. You feel feverish and your body vibrates.

You feel as if there are thousands of bubbles bursting at the tips of swords.

Your mind stills and delivers one last thought... the water you kept at bay with your mud like clay... the fire you swallowed... are now boiling... in this ridiculous ballet of male glory and showmanship... you have weaponized yourself and now are the calamity...

A foreign monster; blinded by madness, shadows over you... as your minds sweeps you away into a stupor.

You awake to find everything in ruin.

You gather what you have of yourself and return the waters back to there crippled dam and let them flow into lush healthy rivers.

The smoke and flame that suffocated; released in cumbrous, heaving coughs. You watch as the scorching flames tame themselves. 

You turn to leave thinking of only your sweet reprieve. 

For tomorrow is another day in the cycle of your glory.