Chicken Shit - A Poem

Feb 10
1 min read

I am naught but a lowly coward.

Bravery has slipped me once again.

I linger here in silence.

I watch, and never confess.

The yellow stripe still burns.

I cannot summon what is required.

I listen and I speak around the thing.

I never advance intention.

To do so courts exposure,

And exposure has a way of killing men.

If I spoke from the shadows,

What would they make of my voice?

It is a choice I will not take.

Unknowing is safer and simpler.

I will wait for my white feather,

Judged, at last, a gutless man.

One who said nothing

And lost everything,

With no witness

But himself.

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