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They call me a bear
So powerful, so strong—
A wounded bear I am
I wish I could just hibernate
And wake in another world
Wake to another land
I once called my home.
A wounded bear I am,
None can take me head-on
But like everything I wear
Cell by cell
All the might
The show of strength
Just fades away—
A place from myself
I cannot hide.
So powerful, so strong
In the realm of thought
I muster all my intellect
I wage my wars
I hack and kill
I buy and sell
what can’t be bought—
Yet a loaf of bread
For a hungry mouth
I cannot buy; I had not fed.
All those legendary exploits
Are but mere thoughts
But in real legends of every day
People just fighting to get by
Who am I amidst these legends?
Not a hero I am nor a villain,
I am naught.
All I have done
All the power
The books and pages
The battles I lost
The battles I won
So that once I am strong
Enough to help those
Who could not be strong,
To protect those
Who have no one—
I could have been rich
The only language it seems by which
The people killed
The people thrown
Out of memory
Out of song
Could be restored
To the ranks of men,
Not some wheat
In a political harvest
For some petty gains
Are plucked and cut and torn
Left to dry dead in the sun
And today are mourned
For some with honest tears
But some with a rummage through the dust
For some fake glory and spoils.
A wounded bear I am—
I chose to fight
I want to fight
I long to fight
But as for weapon of choice
I chose wrong.

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