There has always been one constant;
being afraid has never changed.
In men’s’ first battle they used clubs
so frightened they were deranged.
No flag or drum or bugle
could ever curb the fear,
for our very miserable lives
that are always held so dear.
Multitudes of lonely men
who sparked their women’s fears,
even upon returning
responsible for their tears.
The reasons are many and varied
that we march in anger or pride,
resolving in every battle
to avenge the ones who died.
Rolling the drums and caissons
merely increases the debt,
raising the stakes and certainty
there will be more blood to let.
The peoples’ ideal hero
they say is one who dares,
but the definition of courage
is fear that’s said its prayers.
by Robert Quinn
all rights reserved
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