Simple Thoughts On Bravery Poem by Vincent Cibelli

Final the feelings towards soldiers in war
Honorable or ignorant in the most honorable way
And dishonorably the madness of killing
Makes the mind, easily molded by the influence
Of the minds world, easily brought to conclusions
That must be held and walked through.
He knows, the greedy he knows,
The shipper and his crew, his vessel lost
His anger mounting with no thought excpet
He is wronged and would have his vengence
And the malleable soldiers minds
Though his shoulders broad and steel like
His enemy fierce and proud
Hammer anvil and fire bend the sharpest blade
We sit, I sit, heart aching, for the soldier at war.
They sit aching for their soldiers at war.
For whom are they fighting? do I have a say?
I do as much as the merchant, losing his goods,
The president and congress losing patience and face
So trading his neighbors son for profit or reelection.
So I have not a say, for merchants should have not a say.
Nor politicians though we give them right
They do say! and those die! those might
Better have my say then they.
For my neighbors boys is worth more
than any of me as a merchant's goods,
And never would I trade their lives for my profit,
No matter how much malice toward whom
One may throw their anger and make their reasons
In history when centuries have gone by
It's seen for want or greed are wars waged and defended.
Shall retrospect better know the reasons and why fors
Young men die to prove themselves
Not malleable and count themselves amongst Achillies
And Henry V or for holocausts and hometown attacks
Or more simply for war torn brothers and duty

Though lucky or blessed I have found myself born not
In times of great enemies casting apon
Neighbor's sons great peril and just wars.
As well as being born on the well gunned side.
I, in this age of information, can ask the question
'Why did he do what he did? ' and have someone's answers
Which I may sort with logic and skepticism
And I not needing to die, for the bravery of the time
Has set its bar that low, may sit here and write
Not truly knowing about what I write
Accept in words and logic, but not in experience
And heart which is the truest way of knowing.
Till then all i write is speculation and thought
Maybe even seen as my shoulder's cowardace.