he wasn’t a solider
he wasn’t dying of cancer
he didn’t have any great struggle
he didn’t live without even the
most basic necessities of life

he didn’t  do anything honorable
he didn’t make strides in any field
he wasn’t a hero or a god
he was an average guy,
like you or me

his greatest act wasn’t a battle
his greatest success wasn’t in war
his victory wasn’t against other men
his choice wasn’t even conscious

his whole existence was mired in laziness,
his entire world borne of excess and fat,
his brave act, which makes him so great,
was meant to fight against this destructive
norm

he was a man, no,
a boy,
who looked at his brothers,
his friends, his fathers, and
saw pigs, gluttonous animals
meant to live in the mud

he looked to his world and
saw what it had come to:
the mud in a pig pen

and he thought,
not for a long
time, just enough,
and decided that
something was
not right

so from that day forth
he looked to his peers
look at what they did
and told himself:

I will not be like
them anymore