Tiny soldier

A mind can be brittle, though the mask looks strong, A fortress of silence where sorrows belong. In the echoing halls of the unspoken pain, Lies the weight of the world, like a cold, endless rain. He stands in the storm, taught to never show tears, The keeper of courage, the silencer of fears. But even the iron will bend when it’s strained, Even the mighty grow weary and pained. The battles he fights are not always seen, A shadowy war on a soul caught between What the world expects and what he must feel, The burden of hiding what’s broken, yet real. So today let us speak, let us shatter the guise, Of strength as a prison, of silence as wise. For to carry the load alone in the night, Is to miss out on hands that could carry the light. A mind can be brittle, but it also can mend, Through the voices of brothers, through the love of a friend. Through seeking the help that’s no sign of defeat, But a brave step forward, to stand, whole, complete.