Fight - if only for love

Written by: Bethany Chipperfield

The gust that holds your chest, immovable pride 
From zealous ancients, to this is say farewell. 
To this ardence I despair, hone your hatchet 
But not for death, for pride, for fickle lies. 

Imploringly I should stand upon those dead comrades 
Who lie in the cultivated foreign soil: gone, dead, no more – 
To speak the words you already know;
That this is you. 

I speak for life, I make declarations for love 
Sweet, spicy tasteless love; this is the only 
Protection needed, when metallic claws invade. 
The knowledge that out there, 
Someone, somewhere ultimately will care.