You return from battle – head hung low – worn out, feeling not quite the knight you started out as. Your horse tires as you draw near the site where you call home – alone – both grey with dust of yester years. The lights of days past still flicker although faint in your mind’s eye and you recall with sadness what once was glory. But you don’t know your own story does not cease at this beaten trail’s end for you still have so much more to reap and rewards are yours yet to receive.
Not just material treasures but riches that you think no longer measure bountiful in your claim. Not just castle grand or family portraits edged in gilt-gold frame nor vast amounts of wine to quench a thirst and entice for more – a drunken soul high on life’s bounty as you keep score.
The untold treasures are within, buried deep – no map to guide them out – there they are hidden from the scout. You hide your feelings and keep to yourself the emotions that might display you as an easy target. You are the envy of those who you attend, who may owe you respect yet keep it to themselves – perhaps they pretend not to see the greatness you offer and think they would proffer not from your acquaintance.
You wear your heart upon your sleeve, its trust worn thin with damage from those who will take advantage of your giving way. You age, grow weary – ever wary now of the freely offered facade – charms that suck you dry for everything you have to give. The harm is done and you wonder how much more can be expected – again rejected you are suspect in your own demise.
You do not demand exchange for your offerings, you barter with your very soul, a depleting toll waged upon your goodness. Your bruised body needs repair and in time, with care, you will ride again into another foray where success awaits you.
It is hard to heed the battle cry when the shards of love you offer are yet still ripe with healing wounds and although they will be accepted it will be only by someone who treats them as if their own. Your soul deflated by the ravages of war, will recover – although it may seem like an eternity before you regain its spirit.
Someone with like heart can hear it calling out its s.o.s. of duress.
Your mind torn between the echoed beats, forever repeat your failures yet suppress your most obvious success – you live to fight another battle. Survival means to accept all this and even torment. Demons may call out expecting you to just succumb and fall upon your sword.
But alas, although it may seem bleak and you feel too weak as malaise has seized your health, there is a wealth of life in store – like silver rain from a blackened sky.
Remember – only accept the one whose heart is true; who promises to handle you with gentle hand and offer untold devotion. One who will love you more than you love them. They will let you heal, give you time and as they love away the pain, they will remain forever by your side because they are, in fact, your kindred soul and you are their unsung hero.