(a tribute to the lost, the losing and the lasting)

we're a legion of the hopeless
outcasts of society.
freaks and losers, daft and clueless,
void of all propriety.

we shall march against all odds.
march along our dire straits.
curse all devils and all gods.
march however straight the gates.

every step is a transgression,
every breath we draw is vain,
every heartbeat a concession
to our ever endless pain.

many stand against us fast,
wish us to both fail and fall,
mock us that we will not last,
have us on our knees and crawl.

truth we know some of them speak.
we're aware we're doomed to fail,
weary, worn down, waning, weak,
fickle fools, forlorn and frail.

in no book our tale belongs.
all our efforts are for naught.
sung about us are no songs.
lost will all be we have wrought.

we are heroes soon forgotten.
flesh made mirthless tragedies;
faithless, fateless, misbegotten,
incarnated maladies.

but each of us in their own manner
head held high their burden bears.
high we hold our tattered banner,
rally neath our flag in tears.

we abide by oaths unspoken
to ourselves is whom we swore
and our will cannot be broken
for what's dust can break no more.

so we march, our souls a-bleeding,
even though all hope ran dry.
we're not heroes for succeeding.
we are heroes 'cause we try.

~ RhymeBound

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