Putting my insomnia to good use by writing this poem at 5:30 am this morning.
The Soldier....
Cacophonous, dizzying battles of the mind,
Quite the sketchy, Arduous affair.
No lines drawn on these battlefields,
To demarcate limits or borders.
And yet the battles rage on,
In Kitchens or Corporate Jungles.
Each having its predators and prey,
Each more simply complex than the other.
Tactics, strategies or boot licking,
To each his or her own rules for success.
The lines of sanity blur soon with the thirst for acceptance or power,
How soon before the predator becomes the prey?
The jungles have their rigid rules,
Kill or be killed being the primary one.
How long before a soldier becomes a savage?
Feeding off his own pride, lust and greed.
Tough to stay put and stand ones ground in these battles,
But the soldier must conquer his mind first for the Win.
In no jungle is there any scope for the weak,
But weakness or strength is for the soldier to define and question.
Is it worth losing humanity for the wars of the mind?
Or is it too easy to follow the herd and become a sheep?
Defiance is often taken as insubordination in a jungle.
Punished, mocked at, ostracized.
Yet these battles would be futile if they meant nothing and lead nowhere,
With the burden of choice hanging quite heavily on the soldier.
