Courage’s Graveyard

Here lies the hero’s empty boast,
where courage whispers through the ghost,
not absence, but a fierce delight,
in facing dread through murky night.

In shadows deep and cold despair,
the brave might stumble, curse, and swear,
yet in their veins, fear’s chill resides,
their hearts, though pounding, do not hide.

For each dark corner, each fierce fright,
is but a step in the long, cruel fight,
against the things that claw and tear,
grasping strength from thin air.

See courage on its funeral bier,
not absence, but the will to cheer,
while trembling knees and sweat-streaked brow
defy the beast, and take a bow.

So lift one up to those who dare to stand,
with bloodied fists and trembling hand,
they face their fears with gory glee,
and in their plight, find victory.

The night is long, the horrors real,
yet courage finds the strength to steal,
from shadows where the brave are crowned,
in lands where fear and courage abound.

Thus mourn the brave who fall and rise,
in endless battles under the skies,
for courage, in its darkened tomb,
is not the absence of fear’s gloom.