The arrow wound through the open hand, it cannot be healed.
The hand that waves, showing empty palm, and no offence,
it bears a wound.
The hand of 'welcome stranger' and willing service,
is mangled and torn.
The hand that offers friendship and an oath of the path,
seperated is the tendon and bone.
How should I greet the next traveler I meet on this journey?
The dagger wound through the willing heart, cannot be healed.
The lovers heart so loyal beyond breath and body,
hemorages now its life.
The faithful heart that was pierced through the back,
unexpected and trusting.
The kings heart that was meant for his queen,
made a fool in his own court.
That heart is too soft to heal yet strong enough to endure. The hand it carries the pain and the deformations - but remains strong and holds fast to honor. The heart, it bleeds like a swollen springtime river, but will never run dry. The strength of hand and heart cannot be broken, and they may never be the same.
Who Am I?
- Wado
- Wer den Harnisch anlegt soll sich nicht ruehmen wie ein der den abgelegt hat.