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I fight to win,..
16 years ago
General
I prepare for defeat.
I keep setting myself up for defeat by trying to win. there are battles that we choose and there are battles that are our calling, our nature, and to take that away would be death, if not of body then of soul.
our weapons can be sharp tongues, stabbing glares, or the knife in the back. mortal or glancing they leave scars and make us wary. but still within us the battle cries come, the trumpet cannot be ignored and to our nature we are lined and marched forward.
our battle continues, we want not but the war to stop to surrender to succumb. but always the trumpet brings us to bear. weary, bloodied and tired we march on, weak but willing to follow natures call to arms under her standards bear we stand again. on her call we move on, with defeat we move on, with doubt we move on, with her call,..
we move on. when the cold nights come and the sun brings no warmth she lifts our chins and with promises of victory, of rest, for the final battle being just in sight she rallies us. our scars hurt less our broken selves feel whole, but still the scars throb, the wounds ache they warn us of battles past and maybe we do not fight as hard, we do not take the risk we once did, and the trumpet calls and we are slower to answer, though answer we do, we accept defeat more redily, being familiar we find comfort in the enevitable.
knowing only defeat, we forget what victory is, and we accept this. but still within us, the trumpet calls. and we move too slow. the trumpet calls, and we sit, and accept defeat.
finally,
I keep setting myself up for defeat by trying to win. there are battles that we choose and there are battles that are our calling, our nature, and to take that away would be death, if not of body then of soul.
our weapons can be sharp tongues, stabbing glares, or the knife in the back. mortal or glancing they leave scars and make us wary. but still within us the battle cries come, the trumpet cannot be ignored and to our nature we are lined and marched forward.
our battle continues, we want not but the war to stop to surrender to succumb. but always the trumpet brings us to bear. weary, bloodied and tired we march on, weak but willing to follow natures call to arms under her standards bear we stand again. on her call we move on, with defeat we move on, with doubt we move on, with her call,..
we move on. when the cold nights come and the sun brings no warmth she lifts our chins and with promises of victory, of rest, for the final battle being just in sight she rallies us. our scars hurt less our broken selves feel whole, but still the scars throb, the wounds ache they warn us of battles past and maybe we do not fight as hard, we do not take the risk we once did, and the trumpet calls and we are slower to answer, though answer we do, we accept defeat more redily, being familiar we find comfort in the enevitable.
knowing only defeat, we forget what victory is, and we accept this. but still within us, the trumpet calls. and we move too slow. the trumpet calls, and we sit, and accept defeat.
finally,
