When a good man goes to war, he does not know he is a man. He was waiting to know what he was and what he wanted, but now it is decided. He is unimportant. He is told the reason matters, but really, it does not. Only what side of the numbers he stands on will be praised on a spreadsheet somewhere. He does not even know what his dreams are nor who he will really become. Now because of the bravery in out of range, he never will.
When a good man goes to war, he realizes how inconsequential the rest of his life is. How supplemental it all was. It makes him wonder if any of it really mattered in the big picture. In his heart, his life, especially those in it matter so much, but he is not the one calling the shots here. It seems they were never really his to call. At these moments, the real predator seems to be nowhere, but he still exists, he is just unseen in the haze of the now. The world still is turning. On a side note, looking through a glass in the distance, he realizes there was always a war. To live and die in the war is what it is, what it started as, what it has been, what it is still, and what it will always be. He stands next to the river that is too strong to cross and mourns his own existence. He knows nothing but the war. On the outside he is cool, never losing control, but on the inside is screaming in the pain of the conflicts that burn forever. Secretly, he envies the oblivious ones. How nice it must be to just know nothing, how to not even know there is a war!
