adventures in dysthymia

Sunday, November 23, 2014

To Take Arms, a poem

To Take Arms

So, is it wrong to take
ones destiny into ones hands,
to make that leap into
the darkness on ones own terms?

I, too, might take arms
against tomorrow, against
insistent fate. Someday,
I may feel the need.

There come days when I
believe, and days I do
not. Which will this be?
Tomorrow speaks too loudly,

and if, in the end,
things have only what meaning
we give, what meaning have we?
Take arms, brother, take arms.

The last day of my life
I may regret all done
and undone. The next day,
I shall not care. Let fall

things as they will; in time,
everything and everyone
is forgotten. Let fall the darkness.
I shall know when to take arms.

Stephen Brooke ©2014

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