A Ranger
He walks with
A determined
Stride,
His eyes cautious.
His clothes are
Worn
From being
Out in the
Wild.
People watch him
Pass
With suspicious
Glances,
Wondering who
He is.
A Ranger, he is,
Used to fighting
On his own
And in the calm
Of the Wild.
If you asked him
Why
He does what
He does,
Why he chooses
To stay distant
From people
And in
Shadows,
Why he'd rather
Fight where
No credit's given
Him,
Or recognition,
Why he's so
Willing to protect
People more apt
To dismiss,
To scorn,
And to mock
Him,
If you were to ask…
He'd give you an
Incredulous look,
And answer because
It's what he's
Been
Called
To do.
He is to protect
The helpless,
And the ones
Forgotten,
Who have no
Help
And no one to
Care.
It is his duty
To fight
For those who
Can't,
To make sure
Wounded
Can heal
And innocents
Can grow.
It is my life
To haunt the
Shadows
And the dark,
To live on
The outskirts,
That they might not
Haunt you.
It is my duty
To keep you
Safe,
That you won't know
Why I'm here,
Or what I did.
It is my calling.
If he passes you
By,
One day,
And a ghost of a
Smile
Appears as he sees
You laughing
Carefree…
That is why.
A Ranger has
Many names,
And is called
Many things…
But do not
Forget,
At the moments
You feel
Most safe,
Who's guarding
The place
No one else
Will…
And keeping
Shadows
At bay.
0 comments:
Post a Comment