Beast of Man

This hardened, seasoned armor:
Lethal, almost as sulfur,
Holds within itself a core;
Gentle and fragile by nature.

The embodiment of primal power;
Abused, misused by chidlish whim,
Unleashes great volcanic showers.
Ironically, it can't swim.

The death of balanced harmony
Ensures the Youth's demise.
In spite of all his calling pleas,
No noble soul heeds his cries.

Frantically, the soul that yearns
Gets caught in a circle of choice,
Is shaped to a vessel throught twists and turns,
And eventually finds a voice.

Yet even the cultured; the hero of man
Can't overcome primal force.
At the end of the day, the man loses stance,
And the beast plays with no remorse.

The lesson to learn is simple;
You must choose not to fight the monster.
Instead play along, don't cower or whimper
But assert your authority as master.