Two by Eric Sparks

I met a soldier, a little older than I,
and I could see his years and fears had made him wise.
When I shook his hand, I could see in his eyes that
between the mirrors and tears, he was ready to die.
He smiled often, but rotted inside. Cigarette smoke
down the throat had made his lungs dry. He
smelt like old fungi, but seemed like a fun guy
when he laughed like a child riding a new slide.
In between smelly gasps he grasped my hand tight;
and said, “I have nothing to say, no sound advice;
my profound life taught me nothing is nice. We
spend most of our time in irrelevant fights. Check
the price, nothing is greater than the might of Right.”

He taught me there are two ways to live;
one for the strong; the other will give;
how long could we stand still on the weak or the frail?

Every day is a choice, with a voice of its own;
do you do right or wrong when you’re all alone?