And still I wake

Lately, 
I’ve been challenging 
the sun to a staring contest. 
And no matter how much it 
burns I will never blink the 
dignity out of a promise; 
the truth out of a poem. 
There is no truce to call at 
night when battles would 
rather die than catch their 
breath. 
So its just bloodbaths behind 
bloodbaths of my pride being 
wounded; of old scars being 
pried open with the claws of 
new worries. 
But still I rise as if the morning 
spent the night in my spine. 
Ready to face the day like a warrior —
standing.