the game is in the trenches.
bullets wizz by
making us afraid to stand and
walk out of our mud-hole
our filth hole.
... to stand
we might get torn to bits.
or, upon our walk across the green of the battlefield,
we might find the true happiness.
we might look the shooter in in the eye
and he will elect not to fire.
we might be the ender of the war,
the influential tinkerer of history.
... or, we might get torn to bits...
so in the name of fear,
we stay in our hovel.
and the blood and mud
and stench
stay with us.
Feb 17, 2013
Feb 17, 2013 at 10:45 AM UTC
the game is in the trenches.
bullets wizz by
making us afraid to stand and
walk out of our mud-hole
our filth hole.
... to stand
we might get torn to bits.
or, upon our walk across the green of the battlefield,
we might find the true happiness.
we might look the shooter in in the eye
and he will elect not to fire.
we might be the ender of the war,
the influential tinkerer of history.
... or, we might get torn to bits...
so in the name of fear,
we stay in our hovel.
and the blood and mud
and stench
stay with us.