Rich Mans War

I look into the eyes of the almost whole and watch the struggle between the dead of despair and a flicker of the living hope, permanently entangled, each one trying to catch it's breath.

In a heap, I collapse into the mud that was made from the boots that stepped on me as those more fortunate march on by. Skin and bones, I am wishing to be buried so that I might live again in another place and time.

I imagine walking through that valley, as the shadow of death comes over me and again, I fear every evil combined, for only a moment. And I know my place in this world is small in a cold shadow so big, so deliberate, so powerful, but I keep walking.

It is the meek who will carry the armor and wear it proudly. Hunger burns our bellies, but we'll eat our faith so that it sustains us for another day. The other side listens to the sound of their importance grow as each coin falls onto the pile. Their hunger never satisfied. I wonder how much longer they'll allow me to be free before they kill me.