When I was young, I was lost,
forever wondering the darkest forest of my thoughts.

My grandfathers were like the gods of old.

One was as tall as I am now, a pillar of strength.
From his hands life appeared, and animals came to eat at his hard hands.
And he sang.
Beautifully.
And in him the songs of the past and of the future came to life.

The other had dark eyes and walked proudly.
Unbent. Unbroken.
Part of him forever lost in a forgotten battlefield.
A man who taken the sea of life head on and had ever lost.
But never had bent.

My parents showed me always the sunny path.
they would teach and people would learn, and befriend them,
and always in our house there was laughter.
But I was lost.

My brothers, younger, would lead, and others would follow.
One in friendship and happiness, the other in the field.
They would lead others to victory, and friendship, and love.
But I could not.
For I was lost.

But then there came the moment and failure came upon me.
I fell, others fell, friends screamed, love cried my name.
And I was lost no more.
Mind you, there was no rage in me when I pulled my body up.
My blood ran down my face, and covered my chest, my hands, my eyes.

Only a stillness lived in my mind, a strange feeling.
Peace.
True peace.

There, in the screams, in the blood, in the pain.
Peace.
Purpose.
And from that seed came my happiness.

Not a God
Not a Giver
Not a leader
Not a Friend

I am the pillar

I am stone, fire, dark, smiling, unmoving.

And in my shadow, others move,
some rest and hug my faults,
others pass by and never notice.

But I know.

I am the pillar.