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Over enemy lines.

The time is here,

parachute on,

straps tightened

and checked.

How far up?

One mile, two miles?


The others.

Are they as scared?

Some are laughing,


They are that casual

or is their laughter

a front for fear?


He must soon throw himself

out of a plane.

Into air,


without substance.

The air he breathes.

Life sustaining

but unsupporting.


He must have solid things

to touch.

Nothing solid,

no trust.

Courage melts.

He will refuse.

Like a coward.


Could he take the hatred,

the distain,

the vilification?

That also takes courage.

Which requires the greater?

And if he knew,

would that help decide?


Now is the moment.


He steps forward

to the open chasm.

He may die but that

he would prefer.

Michael R Chapman
~ master of none ~
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