My Job

If you think it's for the money,
That's what I thought at first too,
Or the benefits we receive for our service,
But neither of those are true.

It's hard to believe,
Even I don't understand,
Why I'd want to die for my country,
When I've seen its cruelties firsthand.

But I guess it's more complicated.
A huge mess through and through,
I suppose you never really know
Until you've walked in our shoes.

You're not completely wrong.
Some serve for personal gain.
Yet with a society like ours,
Are they really up for blame?

There are bills to pay and mouths to feed,
And million other things to do.
How does one have the time
To think of me, or you?

But in the end it's all the same.
We all go to the same place,
And we all do our time,
Until our memories erase.

So why do it? For mental ease?
Perhaps, but not quite.
Attention? Satisfaction?
No, none of those feel right.

What if, just maybe, there is no reason?
None at all, nothing, for doing what I do
After all I can't protect everyone,
And I don't even know you.

Why should we have a reason?
Screw the thought of money or applause.
Shouldn't this all be natural?
Without a justifiable cause?

People tend to ask,
What it is I hope to get,
Out of working my ass off every day,
For someone I never met.

All I hope for, should I risk my life
For your right to be free,
Is the thought that anyone and everyone,
Would have done the same for me.

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