Crying does not mean you are weak;
it means you have remained so strong
for far too long.

It means you have sacrificed your life
to ensure others live their's,
and it means you have put yourself forward
to protect their Earth rather than conserve your world.

It means you have kept your promised silence
that hush a friend dared to ask,
and it means you welcomed the weight
when your shoulders were soaked with drenching salt.

It means you have been sympathetic,
firmly standing your ground to defend friends,
and it means you forced yourself into exile
when your effect seemed more demonic than caring.

It means you threw your entertainment aside
to keep a little brother company as he chases fireflies,
and it means you disregarded candle wishes
as an older sister licked frosting numbering a younger year.

It means you chose to be the person everyone wanted to have
but no one wanted to be.

What truly is the definition of righteousness?
Is it determined by act or by mind?

They say a good man fights for justice, peace, and prosperity.
But then, can a man of such moral truly remain so
if he turns to violence as an answer?
Does his intent to create marvels render him of moral status
though his methods may empower death and promote war?
Oh, this man is peaceful himself,
taking letters instead of bullets to battle
but his lyrics dislodge society in a manner not all approve
and so begins combat.
Can this soul carry such holy title,
if the repercussions of his strung together words are strung up necks?

Or is the good man the one who turns away from the world's fight
to be his own embodiment of ethical beauty?
For the one who remains silent causes no direct pain;
he himself is passive and tranquil
and moves to inspire such conduct in others without commanding it.
But his silence encourages fierce vehemency and wildness.
Does this fact not taint his name?

The first man had pure intent,
but with his tongue he spit sparks
which others used to ignite a fire and burn the world.
The second did not fight himself
but his chosen hush could never end the blood rain,
and so his lack of sharp verbosity allowed knives to flash and blood to spill.

So I will ask again,
what determines morality?
Though this time with a grounding response;
morals define morality.

Each man's mind renders his own flawless ideal individually,
and so one's perfection will always be another's monstrosity.
In truth? There are no good men,
or at least not one to all.

When the normal is expected and consumed with boredom,
and the highs pass along unnoticed because they are so humanly desired,
and the lows are too painful to survive through, let alone move on from,
who has the right to ask me to continue trying to live?

Who on this Earth possesses any righteous ability
to command me to survive?
No one.
And yet, I am powerless to stop them.

To put it quite simply; it hurts.