The long walk ahead,
Mustering strength or show up dead.
He lived to tell the story of his battle through hell.
Another biography to tell.
He walked til his feet gave up.
Showmanship but not enough.
A battle through his own forsaken mind.
A battle to hard to find.
In his pockets he carried his good luck coin and a picture of his dad.
At the cross he prayed, for more visions that he had.
He felt a touch on his shoulder, something his dad always did.
His mom stared his ways, from the heavens up above, his tears he has hid.
Another teary moment, he be rid.
©terrylin53
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