Perspective

The only difference

between "revolution"

and "rebellion"

is whose perspective you are using.

Perhaps you are the young visionary,

barely introduced to the world

and already telling it how it should change.

Your ideals could help a great many,

if only they were willing to be helped.

You have never held a gun before

and your hands are shaking,

but change so often sings for blood

you are old enough to know this,

at least.

The barrel of your weapon

is trained on a national guardsman,

who is also aiming at you.

Or is it your brother next to you?

He has always been there

like your shadow,

if your shadow had been born

three years before you,

and had much sadder eyes.

He tells himself,

your brother is trying to change the world,

but you are only trying to bring him home.

It was your mother's request

and you almost hate them both for it.

Almost.

You have always been the wise one

the protector, the guide,

offering a clap on the back

or a shoulder to cry on.

You are your mother's rock

and your father's favorite

and a revolutionary's brother.

Is it monstrous that you would trade it all

to be nothing but yourself?

Of course, it doesn't particularly matter,

this most likely won't end well for you.

You have never held a gun before

and although your hands are steady

a guardsman's sight is trained on your brother.

As despicable as it may be,

you hope someone cries for you,

their heart rent at memories of your face.

The barrel of your gun shifts

to aim at the man who intends to kill

the heart of the rebellion.

He has been trained to see

only what his brothers next to him see

but if he looked closer

he may be thinking,

The men across the way from you

could have lived on your street.

Perhaps you played together,

running races across the cracked pavement,

playing war under the summer sun.

if you shoot the boy across from you

(because god, he is just a boy)

will he get up again, laughing?

Does hoping he might

free you from the guilt of killing him?

You are all so young

but so full of intention,

and perhaps that is why

the firebrand youth never come home.

You are willing to die for what you believe,

but that does not negate the fear.

The to men across from you are brothers,

they have the same determined eyes.

They look at you and see an enemy,

you look at them and see yourself.

Both are aiming at you.

Only one will get to you first.

The other will most likely die

with regret on his lips,

and his brother by his side.

You hope you are aiming at the right one.

The only difference

between revolution and rebellion

is whose perspective you are using.

Perhaps you are the young visionary

or his brother,

or the national guardsman

who holds their fate in your hands.

Perhaps you are none of them

but you have already chosen your favorite.

You are holding your breath, waiting.

Who lives? Who dies?

In the end, it doesn't matter,

you don't even know their names.

What do their deaths matter?

It depends

on whose perspective

you are using.

Author's Note

Feedback is welcome, I'm always looking to improve.

Reviews

[Shy Joe]

A bit winded for what you are conveying. May want to shorten it a bit. Its a poem not a speech. But that's just my opinion. I may be wrong. Good philosophy tho.