Spirit Of The Brave Poem by Zvikomborero Chirema

Spirit Of The Brave

In haste doth the foe proclaim his victory
In mirth he cries, 'I sealed the brave in the grave! '
He gathers his friends, he boasts in his story
Can it be broken? It's the spirit of the brave

Yeah, his laughter soared high into the hills
But with mourning, back came the echo.
Like a dry flower, the fool hacked on the brave
But many seeds yet, did he scatter
For where shed the blood of one a gallant
Yeah even a drop, there rose a mighty army
Can it be conquered? It's the spirit of the brave.

It's the spirit of the brave, it has no master
It's the spirit of the brave.
Who can tame it, a raging wild fire?
Who dares claim it to be a slave?
Like flames it has no place of dwelling
It dies not in the passing on of mortals
It's fuel is the realms of the living
It's the spirit of the brave.

Many are the things man has seen
And much more yet to be seen but one
That a man falls for a just cause in vain
That his memory be of failure and disdain
The spirit of one gallant tosses not in the grave
For death seals not the spirit of the brave.

Hey you fool where is your victory?
Of what do you boast about?
Get thou understanding from tales of history
It cannot be broken, It's the spirit of the brave.

Thursday, January 21, 2016
Topic(s) of this poem: bravery
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