Somedays, I watch the clouds drift by and wonder why I have become so docile. This is not the way I am supposed to be.

I am waiting for the day when the warrior within me awakens. Waiting for the day when I am blinded by a burning lust for blood.

Oh how I wish to be among my anscestors on the battlefield. The men of the north faught for everything. I have yet begun to fight.

I am not a man. Nor is any other who calls themself a man without seeing battle. Until the day which your blood flows freely upon the ground, and until the day you hear your bones and teeth crunch, you are no man to me.

I have changed so much in the past years. No longer can I call myself a pasafist. Once upon a time, I believed in peace. Now, I only ache for war.

Until the day when I can stand and scream to the clouds, until I can face the wind and scream "come whatever may", I am not a man.

Until that day, I live with this screaming warrior within me.