It was the weight of indecision that proved the brittleness of bones
we hesitate while casting sticks and stones
while authors explain in webs of prose
the heros and foes
swords and bows
crossed again back ****** and fighting.
The cowardly meet the brave
rave and rage
the patient confront the vain
never to be patient again
and one always walks away
leaving the other slain in this game.
Where truth lies;
and lies are found true
false words command masses
on paths they should choose
when left with seemingly nothing
they show it's your life to lose
and you do.
Soldiers in streets
march unison with their feet.
The blood.
Oh the blood.
It comes clean from cloth but hands remain drenched
til death's thirst is quenched.
The cup put on tilt and only guilt it spilt.
To run off tables of being and somehow be freeing
Where murders death rattles sound off like triumphant trumpets.
And the sweet swan song rings out light calls from your next adventure
bringing you forth.
Could death be such sweet sorrow?
and is life just time borrowed?
and what life comes in with our tomorrow?
I don't know.
But it won't be my shattering bones
and no soldier shall march all alone
let indecision be unknown
and let's march for a  world that can grow.