when the pained hidden cowards
can stand face to face
and croak their dirges
then perhaps I'll know
what pain and sorrow I carry
and what tears I should be shedding
but belly crawling in mud and dirt
and squeaking in dank caves and under stones
all I hear is their sorrows pains and anguish
coated in the frustrations of born cowards
neither adequate nor capable of owning their convictions
or courageous to be who or what they are in the light of show
shame owns them and confidence and self-assurance never present
I am what I am and do what I do in full glare of the brightest sky sun
the fearful cowards recoil in smelting shadows wishing they are like me
and knowing they could never be
they have always belonged in the background
the weak and wounded are never going to lead the parade
in their faceless grumbles and aspersions you pick the degrees
of their worthlessness and the angsts that condemns them to hide
and hide and hide and hide