If I Were a Poet

Two men, maybe brothers,
wait for the battle to start,
both thinking that at the end of the day
only one of them might still wonder
what there is after life.

Once the shooting begins, it could be just two minutes
before you take a bullet through the head.
Or you could last long enough to know that you are the
one who lasted long enough to know.

We’re all in this together—
some just for longer than others.
The way to keep from despair
is live the battle,
but believe in the war.

Play your part,
the part that only you can play.
Do not envy your brother,
and he will not pity you.
Fight bravely, soldier, even if
your part lasts only two minutes.