Oh valiant soul
Aching to be the savior of all
The penance of sins you did not commit
Your armor has never been the shining
Pinnacle of paragons
You foresake the ability
Of those you protect
From quixotic demons
To call upon you for help.
Your armor, oxidized from years of longing
For importance, relevance,
Now dented from your fumbles and forays
Of projected inner turmoils;
Should you remove your helm you’d see
They want help building windmills.
They know you’ll fight for them,
And that you’ve fought.
It is time for you to rest,
And your armor.
Let the patina of age and experience shine.