Martyrdom, Sacrifice, and Other Such Things
You think of yourself a martyr.
The final, only good,
a sacrifice at play,
your blood is a gift.
A rigorous attempt
to leave a legacy,
to mean and matter.
To die for a cause,
never a fight.
With aching bones,
sunken eyes,
blood on your teeth.
Where do you stand?
What is your punishment?
2 thoughts on "Martyrdom, Sacrifice, and Other Such Things"
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Daaaang “To die for a cause never a fight”
Your poems always somehow give me war vibes, probably the martyr fight and blood imagery. I can hear your voice so strongly in this!