You want to raise
an army of hate
but I cannot
ride the river Styx
and face Hade’s gate
with anger in my face.

I dare not visit
similar grief
upon a stranger’s life.
I will not see
a stranger’s wife
weep terribly
because I believed
I was better than he.

You want to raise
an army to rage
and ravage
all that lays
displayed,
flesh splayed
folded open
with blood ink
to write
your history pages.

So, when
you command men
to turn upon those
who once
could have been known
as friend,
I will close my eyes,
turn around,
put my weapons down,
say my sweet goodbyes
to love and life,
and let you label me
as a man of treason,
a king of reason.
I will swallow my spite
and for just this one
last night.
I will do what is right
and die refusing to fight.