The siege

There used to be a fortress. Impregnable and proud.
Contained but cocooned. Determined but hidebound.

Stones are merely instruments of the will that rules within.
No match for a long strung arrow flaying the tender string.

The weakness lay deep, but they'd caught the slight blink,
the walls would not hold now, they'd shred the weakest link.

The gates now thrown open, the forces marched in,
and every strike drew blood, as they caught the naked shin,
they would not win it all, the will was not all gone,
but the armor of pride and certainity, lay forever worn.

But brusies make stronger, and wounds leave scars,
serving as incessant lessons, of forgotten old wars,
and with walls goes the dogma, chains that held you back,
narrow minds pried open, to many a different track.

Peace prevails where there are walls. They will go up again.
But what they protect shall never be the same...