When night falls, good men fall with it.

With the Lord’s angels by their side, they sleep.

Full of hope, full of life.

But with that same nightfall,

Some men go to war forsaken by God.

And tonight I, the poet,

I ride with those men into battle.

“Good” men, but worse, darkened souls.

And what’s a man but his soul?

The enemy? Well, every “good” man’s enemy

Is his soul, his very own soul.

And the strategy? Every man for himself.

Tonight I ride nightfall with nothing.

A thick darkness swallows my already dark soul.

But I see him, clad in exquisite cotton

Like the “good” in which he rests at sunrise.

The “good” man everyone sees.

But men don’t see souls. Men don’t see truth.

So today I march against nightfall

Armed with nothing but hope

And the man I want to be can only surface

If I win this war against night itself.

Published by Solomon

I write to get a better understanding of the world, why we feel the way we feel and how we can channel our emotions to achieve greater stories

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