Ark of the Lost Angels

_{(Credit: Vulpes-Ibculta)}

A boy my age, from my hometown, with a face like mine acted,
And the whole world stood up to take notice.
Must I also forsake my soul for a better tomorrow?
Take the gloves off and get blood on my hands?
Would my orphaning another child change anything?
Is this the world I’m supposed to champion?

I am told the best thing I can do is die well,
In service of a worthy cause.
My life is expendable. 
The hill must be taken.
Even if it will be abandoned shortly thereafter.
Will my epitaph read, “another pointless sacrifice in service of a futile goal?”

Am I truly the product of this careless chorus
Whose song decries my existence as brutal and violent,
While claiming it is all I will ever be?

Is it truly fair the forefathers’ sins pass to the son?
And that the only way to wipe my slate clean
Is to be the vengeance of the persecuted
And punish the ones who hold their chains?

Must I become another discarded martyr of the downtrodden? 
Will my legacy be a bit part in the story of others whose voices matter more than mine? 
Am I not allowed to love? To know peace and softness and light?
Am I not allowed to dream of a better future too?

Why does it feel as though the world rests on my shoulders?
How does one man fight systemic entropy on a mass scale?
Do I become the thing I fear the most?
A weapon, pointed at the “right” targets?

I don’t want to hurt anyone.
Why do I fear being good at it?
What do I do when violence isn’t the answer
And simultaneously all I’m good for?

I don’t want to be the villain.
But maybe the people like me who came before
Have given me no other choice.