The Riddle

The musket shrapnel severs limb from limb,
The blunt explosion darkens day to night,
The bleeding gashes tear his life from him,
Extinguishing his home, his love, his life.
Some live for glory, straining in the race,
Their muscle carves the prize of ash and dust,
Some scheme for riches and the pride of place,
Yet gold and favor both corrode to rust,
Some seek the thrill of pleasure’s biting taste,
Enflamed they revel, and they soon combust,
Some plow papyrus, for Truth’s lettered face,
To find opinion, falsehood, and mistrust.
Yet I pursue the riddle’s end of life,
The cross of love dissolves the pain of strife.
-Tyler William O’Neil
-February 14, 2010