The Deserter

The Deserter (of the American Dream and more)

I can only describe what is going on within

as a Civil War

Bloody, tortuous, hand-to hand combat

Me against myself

Not knowing who is who

Bayonets fixed

A full head-on charge

Fire, smoke, death, chaos

A battle hymn

A rebel yell

And all of this for something evil

All of this for something good

All of this for something beyond me and my little world

I am a mere statistic, panicked here on the death grounds

Yet I am told this is the staircase to glory

All I know is that my simple story

Is I came, I saw

I cried,

then died.

There is nothing glorious at all in that

Nothing glorious at all

So right here in the midst of this noisy din

This noisy din of impossible demand, command

I drop my gun

I drop my sword

I refuse to kill my spirit

I refuse to bury my soul

in the soil of greed and human selfishness

I look and see three geese, honking, flying toward their home

I believe I shall go there for my very own self

For I refuse to roam within this land of death and prison and hate

As I drop my gun, I see the gate

On the outer edge of the battlefield

And amidst the cries of the dying, anguished

I take my steps 

To freedom