Lost and found

Its early morning when you are raw and exposed,
There hasn't much time to get yourself composed.
As the day passes and the walls are built,
everything is processed with a sword to the hilt,
And life goes on the way it should go.



The day always progresses with a sword above one's head,
Until we survive the sun and stars and retire to bed.
As a child i defended myself with clubs and spades,
I have now progressed to sharp blades.
Blunt or sharp, the pain was the same,
Sometimes my fault, though often I wonder if it was my fate to blame.



Fights i've had and taken part in far too many,
less with clubs and swords, more with penny.
A lot of times, the sharpness did not matter,
It was the tyranny of age and a lot of charm splattered.
I just wish the merit of the argument was which that mattered.



Having weathered battles afar and a plenty,
I have learned to cut down and keep away from many.
Some of them drew blood and some brought in laughter,
and with no scars I have always wished to walk away thereafter.
So many skills learned and so many scars earned;
And still i have no land to call my own,
all I want to do right now is lock away the troubled past,
and try and find someone to call my own.... :)