My sweaty palms, tighten their grip
On the cold and unfeeling gun,
As I crawl through the mud, determined
To attain some goal I did not want,
But thought I needed,
To carry out my faulted plan
To defend against your piercing silence.
I scratch at the dried scab
With my blood-stained fingers,
As the bullets fly overhead,
Some wingless angels,
Ready to carry bodies to rest.
I did not want to admit
That I was afraid, but I was stubborn,
As I held my head up high,
Even when captured by the enemy,
Even when held captive in your presence,
I'd rather swallow a grenade,
Than reveal what's in my heart.
And as I stand naked in front of you,
Unadorned by metals or medals,
We meet eye-to-eye, held steadily,
I look at you with masked pain,
You look at me hard,
I cannot read what's behind those eyes,
And we both refuse to back down,
We are just at war with our pride.
