A tossed salad of poetry, art and ideas.
“To live is the rarest thing in the world. Most people exist, that is all.”
— Oscar Wilde
He understood the burden for
he carried it all his life.
A man had sacrificed himself
to save him, and for what?
One day, he went back to France
to thank that man who died;
he wept, wept deep and deeper still,
his family by his side.
“Did I live a life worthy
of what you did for me?”
As the wind swept through the gravestones
no voice was ever heard;
the universe was silent…
it never said a word
and the bones as well where Ryan knelt
were silent ‘neath the sod.
Veterans knew what happened
on the day his life was spared.
A man had given his life for him
and he knew to make it count
he’d have to sacrifice his own,
give back the same amount.
The man who gave his life for him
was pleased, even though he’d died,
because the private did his best,
a lifetime he had tried.
That’s all that anyone can be,
to do the best they can,
to make a difference in this world
and by this become a man.