Your Tribe


You’ll search for it all of your life,

A feeling of belonging ;

Soldiers don’t fight and die for queen nor country, my friend;

Brotherhood is what we live for and die for:

It is the only battle cry that has stood the test of time;

For, we are pack animals forged into a tribe;

And, while I may not always agree with you, my brothers;

It is for you, and you alone, I shall willingly lay down my life.


How can you sleep when the world is screaming its deafening roar outside?

Churning, twisting its chains and lashing out;

An insomniac’s day dream,

Bearing down like a Juggernaut,

I will not be crippled by indecision,

As i’ve spent a lifetime living thus;

Professional soldiers are trained to move toward the sound of violence (like a hunter to a kill);

While untrained civilians naturally flee,

A rare few will stand their ground,

Determined to make a stand;

For night or day, battle comes when you least expect it;

Some battles are unavoidable;

When neither fight nor flight is a credible option:

For, eventually, all dangers must be faced head on.

Pigeonholes in the Sky

We be cooped up in these towers, brov;

Like them pigeons that no body wants around, blood;

Rats with wings and vermin, is what they call us like,

We be pigeons, in a world in love with doves;

Choice pickings don’t make it this far down;

Violent tussles over scraps,

Till we all be slipping on spilt blood;

And, scraping the bottom of a barrel,

To make do is what we do, brov;

That’s our lot in life,

And, we ain’t got a lot.