By Dyce

This tenet do I cleave to, and

Always will - I will not kill.

Though it cost my life and heart I

Will not sacrifice my soul.

Life is too precious to allow,

Its fragile warmth to drain away -

Not by my hand, I swear it now,

That final spark extinguished.

There is always another way.

Though into battle do I go,

Daily struggle righteous,

And offer up my life upon

The altar of the greater good,

Ever do I stay my hand,

From delivering the final blow.

Always have I known, that this is good -

And in goodness I have taken pride,

In knowledge sure, my soul was pure,

Of that final, everlasting taint.

For it is wrong to take a life,

Be it of the darkest soul,

That ever on this earth drew breath.

I will not kill, I told myself,

That is my choice, it is my will,

Never thinking, nor doubting, I,

That there was indeed a choice.

Then, in the raging battle's thick,

I saw the cruelest evil stand,

Witnessed his moment's weakness -

And a weapon in my hand.

All his evil, harm that he has done,

I could have, in an instant, caused

To end at last, to finish, and

Let his pawns be free at last.

But it is wrong to kill, I thought,

And allowed myself to turn away,

Seeking another path, one easier,

That would not cause my conscience stain.

He escaped, he yet continues in

His harsh and evil ways, perhaps

Forever. And I, who could prevent,

Did not, and I am guilty thereby

Of all his sins, and my own also.

In pride I held myself above,

Seeming unfit cruelty,

And with the blood of countless innocents,

Purchased my worthless purity.

fin