I’ve been ashamed I have not held the line
Myself. Nor shown respect for those who did
Nor ever thought I could, a thought kept hidden
On a shelf of false disdain, maligning
Those who would; and pained to think my spine
Was weak. At least, until that day undid
My cravenness. That day I knew, amid
My web of lies, that woven not of mine–
No, tangled from another’s twine, a slack
And mangled maven–much more meek, supine,
More cowardly as then I was. No black
Nor white existed, why the fuss? he late
Insisted, only grey: The grey of hate
Of they who save the day, and hold the line.
This sonnet is part of a short sequence; click here to read it all:
Thank you very much.
Thank you very much. This, I am ashamed to say, is true to life. This comes from my own experience and awakening to certain facts about who has sacrificed what on account of whom.