And that was it, there was nothing left to say;
In a world that hits hard, a soft touch fails to hold meaning;
Yes, it is a form of bravery,
But what does it say to the life before you?
You must be wise enough to know
When hitting hard means your survival.
While tongues twist words in minds that bend
For or against, for there is always opposition;
What is the use of choosing a position
When the crowd is wild and calling out
And some are stretching, yawning;
Each becoming a world unto themselves?
Such a strange form of vanity in this lot of humanity;
As our troubles become weights that shackle our hearts;
Between our blessings and our curses, we deliver
These rehearsals; never knowing when our tongues
Might tie the final knot in the cord;
Never knowing when we speak the last word.
Because to admit to our fragility moves against
The stability of our strengths in the face of each storm;
Rage and cold frost is easier to swallow
Better to leave each one in the water to drown;
This is the way we fashion the laurels;
This is the way we forsake the crown.
But it is all empty, minds are the cages of
All they have experienced; and the world is
A winter of affections; we may say it is not our choice;
Perhaps fate, or natural selection,
One more reason etched across our skull;
Like a body etched within the grave.