The damp air around me smell infuriating,
metallic like the roscoe in my palms,
imprinting every edge and crease,
like a tattoo, but straight to my brain.
Its pathetic- I realize as I see myself,
selfishly wallowing in the sorrow,
jealous of the joy the rest hold close,
am I deserving of the self-pity?
The wind howls out to the seven nations,
resonating painfully clear- those battle cries,
every second step, I crush a bone,
every next, I bury a sorry soul.
Maybe this is the legacy I am to tell,
the part of history that goes down,
would I have been more grateful,
had I been swallowed by the ground.
A single promise, a thousand kind,
kiss those tiny palms, tell her to marry me,
every man had a dream,
a dream that is now my reality.
Eyes of tomorrow, will see these many names,
but will the days from then on,
ever remember what their stories said.
Maybe my purpose is to carry them,
maybe to carry the resentful guilt,
one spared bullet in the soil,
I could have been a forgotten name.