On the eve of my life beginning;
past conflict, past guilt;
the end came swiftly.
Glory for a life well spent,
I suppose.
But I still have regrets,
of a life wasted
on hesitation and stoic coldness.
More than this,
I only knew a moment of peace
in a life of war.
A war against hatred,
oppression,
injustice
and myself.
If only I'd known the sweetness sooner,
and the taste of the wind
before my last breath.
I died as I lived,
in service
and in sacrifice.
Is that all there is;
what happens to my great cause
now that I am gone?