How could a man be so cruel, i was thinking at deep
How could one make her weep , i was thinking at deep
she was a spinster,,and it was all she made for her
The abiogenesis of emotions never grew as she met a sycophant
It was all abnegated as she was a shrew,
While he was a taciture with a misogynistic heart
She was all fastidious but he always had a belief
Nothing is much balefulI unless we are not eccentric
Unless we are ascetic holding the parasol
It is only then all sycophants would die
It is only then when spinsters would have their men
When there is no intestatement of a soul
For country, they chose to honor a call,
Now the piercing sound of a rifle's report.
An echoing trumpet, sadly says it all.
Let us hero our young as a last resort.
No image portrays our freedom's cost,
Like that of a flag draped casket.
A mental souvenir of war, un-tossed,
On display from memory's basket.
It serves to remind of a hero's place,
Should we treat it as a mere statistic.
For each had a home, name and face,
Harboring dreams that were realistic.
They abnegated those dreams for a chore,
Accepting that vitality might be tried.
Death isn't made a contrivance of war,
But a mental souvenir from those who died.
I have got nothing to gain or lose.
I have got nothing much to choose.
I wish I had something to refuse to.
But yet its all gone.
Do you feel what I'm saying?
I really hope you don't.
Shout not at your enemies.
but at me for being pathetic and self-abnegated.
I'm sorry for what I'm meant to be.
I'm sorry for that I'm meant to do.
I'm sorry who I'm meant to be with and of course it isn't you.