The warrior is an easy person to find,
Maybe, because of the pictures stored in my mind.
The warrior is the one who has all the fun
Hanging around where no one else would, out in the sun.
Yet, what is the the name for the one when things don’t go as they should.
The one who would, the one who could,
The one who didn’t quite make the game.
To lose your life is rather slick as a warrior’s demise
But what if that was not to be realized?
To still be around, a source of shame and pain?
What if he or she for whatever the cause,
Their demise didn’t happen, not an event to cause pause.
Is the fear the same for those with no blame
Except they didn’t make it to the game.
A shame, a shame to miss the game, but are they really to blame
For loss of fortune or fame?
A warrior’s life is not of fear
Of death, not coming but enduring they must, the offer so near.
To wake or sleep always knowing what may come
they may have to kill or die, but the waiting, as it never comes.
What is their name, those who missed the game?
They still must be called a soldier.