You're Definitely Not A Martyr
I've been told I'm now in training,
To blow myself to bits,
The first thing is to brainwash me,
So the idea nicely fits.
I asked if I could try it out,
Before I finally go,
They said that wasn't practical,
Why they didn't know.
The problem with my mission is,
A test run's not allowed,
My trainers said, you can't do that,
Or we'll end up in a shroud.
I asked them what their ages were,
They both said, eighty nine,
They claimed they had a right to live,
For me to die was fine.
I've asked them why they're still alive,
If this concept is so fabled,
They said they'd love to do my job,
But they could end up disabled.
I said you're being ridiculous,
You are telling blatant lies,
They said no, when it's time to go,
We live, it's you who dies.
That's why we are tutors,
To train you for your death,
While you're out dying,
We're still inhaling breath.
They've told me not to worry though,
The bombs within my vest,
Won't give me any problems,
I'll die with all the rest.
I asked them what will happen,
If my bomb then fails to blow,
They said I'd need to run like hell,
Extremely fast, not slow.
I don't believe a word they say,
I've never craved for glory,
As for being blown to bits,
Well that's another story.
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poem by Bri Mar
Added by Poetry Lover
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