All I had, I gave

 My chin presses wearily into my chest,

The weight of my head to heavy to hold.

The sword in my hand slides slowly to rest,

Against my limp leg, chipped, bloody and dull.

Every sinew and muscle has been put to the test,

Now utterly spent, shaky, achy and cold.

My steed, he hobbles weakly up to the crest,

when over the hill, my Lord I behold.

The splendor of His face, I could never have guessed.

Cracked lips part, with a gasp as the past takes it's toll.

I plunge to the ground, my body bruised; a mess,

The pain settles in and begins to hammer my skull.

"My Lord!" I cry, "I gave all I had. My best."

His arms encompass me like pieces to a mold.

Warmth floods me, my wounds hurt less and less.

"Well done." He whispers. My sins are rendered null.

The Danger of Anger

 "You can't paint a clock with mercury and not expect to lose your teeth."

She said as I stood there with my jaw clenched hard enough that the heat of my wrath evaporated the tears of my sorrow. My shoulder's sagged as I realized what she meant.

Rage can mask grief. It is an armor that protects us from the arrows of woe. Unfortunately, armor comes with a sword and a blindness. It seeps into every crevice of our life, harmfully affecting that which we are charged to protect. Within it, we lose all other feeling, good and bad. Often not realizing it until we gaze upon the wreckage in our wake. 

You cannot wield it without harm.