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The man and his mountain.

                                    The man and his mountain.


Your old, your male, and you've never given birth. 
You've lived in a world where you were told to go to war then told to buy a house and live in a picket white fence outside the city limits.
The work day was eight hours of factory. 
Then a home cooked meal where the cleaning and the cooking and breeding was done by your inferior goddess you gave a ring to. 
Perhaps the bitterness stems from which you were taught . 
To be a man is stoic and stern. 
Quiet and unfettered. 
Emotion is for the weak. 
You'd rather sell your soul then feed your heart. 
Keep fear away within the walls of what you believe to be normal.
That uncomfortable silence that keeps you and your beliefs to be powerful. 
You've been given a voice of acceptance.
Your true colors have shown, no longer chameleons. 
Cowardice acts to redeem your dying power. 
Blessed be those that throw rocks at glass houses.
You are as mortal as those that you fear. 
You bleed as much as your so called enemy.