Glory, With Strings Attached. Poem by Treason

John!
No Shoes on.
Walks the gravel road, while the rocks sting his feet.
Of course that's not the only thing bothering him.

Calm!
Like the eye of the storm,
determined like a hungry wolf,
and set like a time bomb.

He's the one we call the martyr.
He's the one we call the saint.
Savior? or Killer?
List the differences.

The gravel isn't getting to him,
the long hot road to the goal isn't paved in gold.
Or silver.
But more like, shards of glass.
But he still goes.

John!
Are you tired yet?
You've been at it for so damn long.

John!
Take a rest; please!
Because, no human can go this long.

But he keeps going,
knowing that once his journey is successfully complete,

He will, become king.