Deep in the valley of my chest

lives the undying war.

Night and day

they battle

to the death.

Until one late evening,

when there is an unusual pause,

a lone figure steps out of the ranks,

face pinched.

Every soldier stares,

a bullet of emotion pings

off the bulwark of the heart

as disbelief ripples through the warriors.

Everyone knows this is simply another soldier,

another fighting robot among the many,

and everyone knows this soldier

will die like the rest,

quick,

soundless,

no emotional breath left.

Everyone watches to see who will take the shot.

Those closest can hear the shaky hum,

a lullaby,

an old tale of grief

and courage

tripping through a trembling throat.

The lone soldier places their rifle

on the ground

at their feet.

Swords and daggers too.

Exposed in the center,

boots sinking in the muck of pessimism,

they stand and breathe.

Alive.

Armistice.

Amicable.

Amnesty.

Another rifle falls,

then another.

The lone soldier smiles,

"Together," they whisper.