They say love is a battlefield, whereas, the front line of my combative tactics are unwritten rules of engagement making a statement that I've been a soldier.
My allegiance to the country I call my soul is deeply rooted and planted alongside the spoils of warfare resulting without resolution.
Easily compromised, I witheringly serve with my heart and for that, I deserve a congressional Medal of Honor or a "Purple Heart". It's funny I say that because ironically, that's the true color of it;Bruised and beaten.
I lace my boots and prepare an infantry of epic proportions ready to look "death" in the eyes and except what's before me..... Inevitable pain? Yes, I know there is a way to obtain reward without risking what's already established so for me to surrender with a symbolic wave of clad fabric would be unjustified by my morality.
First shots have been fired and I for one, know this scenario all too well.
Blood soaks the soil giving way to the body count and with everything I can possibly muster, I consider what's at stake if I do not triumphantly rejoice in pushing forth a regimen who is never accepting affectionate injustices.
Let the fight carry on until emotional devastation speaks no more of my name.This revolutionary event is a continuum to be continued...