Hands

We prowled through distant lands both dangerous and not.
Painting portraits of goodness behind every little note I jot.
The painting and the poetry became one in cross-dimensional lands.
They joined together as one not unalike the holding of lovers' hands.

I will not do this by myself because I am but a simple man.
And the problems of the world cannot be solved by simple plan.
I fight like the fiendish beasts of the Nordic mountains.
I fight for the blessed waters running from Poseidon's fountains.

I smirk as the army before me rushes with bloodthirsty cries of war.
I too struck a smirk on my own visage in the fight worth dying for.
The bodies fell one right after another before my savage might.
And for the first time in my life I felt as if I were in literal flight.

The smoke cleared and the cries fell to an abrupt silence.
I let out a sigh of relief hoping there would be no more violence.
A voice called out and commended me in the end.
But all I could think of was joining hands once again.