Oh how glorious!
That which has plucked a son from his mother’s breast
That which has struck my friend to the ground
That which has numbed my senses
That which has set fire to the forest
That which has filled my mind with scorpions
That which has freed the content and maimed the free
That which has crippled compassion

Oh how Crippling!
The honor
The ill placed desire
The medal which stains my jacket
The ribbon which stains my uniform
The world that will not leave me

How I bite my nails
How I twist
How I turn
How I sweat
How I’ll burn