Registering, Renouncing, Regrets
Hating the life you've chosen, and will leave,
doesn't mean not respecting it, or those who'll stay.
Realizing that, for you, it is just not the way,
doesn't mean for those taken, you won't forever grieve.
Deciding to serve and feeling like you never did,
like you've only passed time and accrued pains,
doesn't mean you have failed, or weakness reigns,
from duty you shirked or conflict you hid.
No, I haven't killed anyone, nor seen a man die,
but I've got friends dead and friends gone;
those who need a glass just to greet the dawn,
and those with stones above, seen their final sky.
I've been told before that joining is more than expected,
that choosing so is more than most ever will;
that a life isn't in fact owed, whether to die or kill,
that the readiness to do so is in itself honor reflected.
I strive to be the best I can always,
but I've seen better men than me fall.
I hope they know evermore we remember them all,
but ever on me, whether this is a betrayal weighs.
I know that if I didn't do this, if I stayed,
I'd meet more than I already have to lose;
to bullets, to bombs - to what foes choose,
to spirits, to jumping - from hope strayed.
I struggle with what's been said here, all of it,
even though I think it, to feel it true.
I need it to be so, need the doubts to subdue,
to know that friends and heroes alike, I have not simply quit.
Copyright © Andy Sprouse | Year Posted 2016
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