I am not noble enough
to sacrifice it all
in the name of love;

To feel each bullet
that was born of hate
fly through my skin,

To stand and march
and see my heart
get broken again,

To feel my pride,
being barely sustained
as I push on
when I know
that I push in vain.

I am not a king
among men,
nor princely in stance,

I am not a knight
made for the battlefield,
not a soldier who cannot yield.

I am more of a mix,
clowning jester,
sagely bard,
lonely lover
who writes with heart
to remind you how
others feel.

Now, I kneel
to your steel,
throat exposed
in fancy prose
cause I am not a hero
but maybe
just a little bit of
a martyr lately.