Honor
You who are about to die will enter,
with thought and mind as hard as a walnut.
Despair; your armour plated heart, better
to preserve your certainties in the rut.
Discomfort visits those whose eyes are shut.
And we who are about to die salute,
a time well spent, in honor that is mute .
Discard; in superficial rite resound,
and felt life’s throbbing soul down to the root.
Does comfort visit those there in this ground?
Copyright © David Byrne | Year Posted 2010
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
Please
Login
to post a comment