The Inner Nature
In his gaze, the chill of frozen lakes,
A will coiled tight, a spring of steel.
Through hollow words and all that shakes,
The cold machine drives on, surreal.
Deep in that place, beyond the sight,
The code of judo, the sense of debt;
The strike is measured, timed just right,
With Volga’s patience — the safest bet.
That nature isn’t fields or flowers,
But a jagged ridge in a coat of rime.
Bridges burned behind the towers,
A challenge thrown at the face of time.
Shadows reign where the armor gleams,
Private life lost to the oath he swore.
In silence flicker only beams
Of maps drawn out for a distant shore.
His own judge, his own guard, he stands alone,
In a shell of truths the state provides.
A soul where global maps are grown,
Where duty rules, and warmth subsides.
