We spend our days,

Waiting for a person,

Who volunteers.

The only one who isn’t scared.

Doesn’t mind the murmuring,

The rolling eyes,

The shattered reputation.

And we all follow after,

While some criticise,

So that we can do it too.

We never are actually the first.

We leave that job to the brave.

We won’t raise our hand.

We’ll teach our offspring,

Don’t burden yourself.

They’ll be others to do the unpleasant jobs,

In life.

But when you look at yourself in the mirror,

You can’t.

You’re afraid of yourself.

The shame,

The regret,

The fear.

Being different,

A new thrill,

An adventure.

But the brave,

They won’t look at themselves,

In the mirror with superiority,

They’ll pass down the same humility,

The courage and compassion,


Down into a new soul.

Another generation passes.

New one,