The Brave

No eulogies, no odes,
No markings on the tombstone
No hallowed books, no scriptures,
No sight of stone sculptures

No dedications, no memoirs,
No one to say au revoir
He lies silently in his grassy grave,
And an old timer talks about The Brave

In a race to be abnormal,
He always tried to be normal
Flawed was he completely,
In his mistakes lay his beauty

He searched high and low,
For what even he did not know
Every strife followed joy,
He never became a man from a boy

Loved his friends and foes alike,
Never did he use an ounce of spite
Putting it into words was impossible,
But he always knew he was also special

His favourite weapon was his heart,
Too big for anyone to withstand
It also was his Achilles heel,
Its burns he would always feel

He will never lie truly alone,
Nor will he lie in company,
Such is the fate that binds him,
From birth to eternity