Lamb, got Sam

The beauty in the fragility,
and the spell in the white;
is where the chains that you carry
shed blood in the fight.
The blue in your fire
and the green in mine,
will only burn brighter
with the immeasurable time-
it has taken the earth
to spit up it’s landmines.
We are filled with shrapnel,
and scarred with stories,
that hold no glory –
But, we are still here, and standing,
relentless in demanding.
You outer shell may appear demure,
and your kind face may just be the cure,
but your bones are wrapped in binds,
that I will always call mine –
because, lamb…
You are not learning to walk on your own.
I am just behind, following close.
So I beg,
do not lay down.
So I ask,
that you make only one sound;
that is one of
belief, and not grief.
I implore you,
because I adore you.
Turn around.
Stand your ground,
and you will be found.