Broken Warrior

By Gothatheartholo

Come warrior, face the battlefield,

There you will fight and bleed your hands.

You can’t protect yourself with shield,

Or other weapons like a lance.

Enemies reside in your mind,

Not only in front of you, fool,

No one around you will be kind,

To them, you’re nothing, but a tool.

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A/N: Yep, this is another iambic pentameter poem (did I say that right?), with one of those patterns in rhyming and such. Eight lines, eight beats.