Fighting Fire
When I grow old,
and other men no longer see me as a danger,
will my soul be free of anger?
Will this chip still ride my shoulder;
will I always be a 'soldier'?
Or will my close-kept pride become a long-lost stranger?
I can't see it...my delusions prevent it...
and my fire may well be the death of me,
but well... I don't know any other way to be.
So as the accumulating years conspire,
to sap the strength that fills me;
they know they'll have to kill me,
to smother my fighting fire...
...I'm about that life.
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