Honour – by Zombie Zak
Without honour, what are we but uncivilized, cowardly beasts that roam the wilds?
Honour is not something that you package into a TV dinner, nor place in a bottle.
You cannot dig it out from the depths of human depravity, nor the muck, to find it.
It exists, within you; by your choices, by your commitments, by your words, deeds.
Be your honour, know what it means, do right by it, and it will do right by you.
The difficult path lies with doing the right thing.
Times will be rough, emotions will be fraught,
Anger will oft times seek to control, to dominate.
But your honour, it will guide you, provide light.
There is much sadness in the world, today as with any other day.
So many complications that strive to thwart our best intentions.
You have control over your destiny, if you but choose to make it so.
Nobody controls you, unless you give them that power over you to do.
There is no reward, other than knowing
That the right thing has been done today.
Do not expect to win the battle of life
If you cannot hold true to your core being.
In today’s society, honour sometimes is spoken with ill regard.
I cannot say how much it grieves me to hear it displayed so.
My desire is to see a species of humanity that wears dignity
With as much regard for its least to its greatest individuals.
I do not expect that any will accept my credo
Nor necessarily understand what it means.
I can but spread the word of my intentions,
And hope to affect at least a few souls.
In such measure that perhaps I can help
A few others garner support for themselves
To overcome their burdens, their obstacles
To lead a brighter life, free of fear, regret.
Look outward, look deep within yourself
And ask of your own world, your life, your soul:
Are you happy with what you’ve accomplished?
Does it wear a happy emoticon of contentment?
Have you striven and attained what you wanted?
Is it ripe with strife and internal conflict?
Consumed with regret at choices not made?
Coloured poorly, by a hand broken by fear?
Or, even, more like, a mixture of both somehow?
There are no simple solutions, no easy answers to this.
Life is a bitch, of that there’s no doubt, no argument here.
But, if one is true to oneself, to one’s honour, to the soul,
Then that life is one’s own, true to the heart, to the bone.