He walks in flames, a warrior born,
With blade ablaze, and spirit torn.
Bushi, they call him, swift and strong,
But hidden embers whisper wrong.
His eyes, like smoldering embers hold,
A tale of pain, a story told.
Of battles fought, and shadows cast,
A fiery path, that wouldn’t last.
He yearns for peace, a calm untamed,
But fury’s grip, his soul inflamed.
The burning blade, a constant call,
To rage and conquer, stand as tall.
He dreams of fields, where sunlight beams,
And gentle touches chase away his screams.
A chance to mend, to find his way,
From warrior’s path, to brighter day.
But whispers echo, dark and low,
Of power’s hunger, embers glow.
The call to burn, to fight, to smite,
A constant struggle, day and night.
Oh, Bushi, lost in fiery fight,
May gentle rain extinguish night.
Unleash the kindness in your soul,
And find your peace, beyond control.
For in the ashes, hope remains,
To break the chains, and ease the pains.
The warrior’s spirit, strong and true,
Will find its solace, born anew.