The Battle Cries Continue... (Life of a Banquet Server Poem)

Watching the clock go tick and tock: that's one... that's two... And soon there is six. The phone remains silent as the battle cries bellow... through the great halls and into the frosty night.

“Warriors brace yourselves for a glorious battle,” the captain shouts to his army.

He remains brave as he prepares his warriors for the battle. Knowing it will be brutal, he remains calm and optimistic. Hours pass by; with it the warriors' strength too wanes. With multiple enemy's closing in around our little army; the battle begins to look bleak to all. Obstacles everywhere: external and internal. The cries of the weak begin to bleed through.

"I can't do this for five hours... or else I will die."

Some cultures worship a god. Others a goddess. But ours worships a mysterious light. The wisdom of the light is powerful, but so are the consequences. These warriors are drawn to it; enslaved by it even.

"Listen you say? But I am!"

"What was that? Can you repeat it again?"

Scribbled in the mind: the greatest of all letters. But after a moment... the composer declines to reveal their work.

One-by-one I watch as the warriors of my army begin to fall. Amidst the chaos, I continue to record the battle. I yearn to help but the battlefield is no place for me – not yet. Across from me sits another, a leader shrouded in mystery. They wear a mask to hide an agenda.

“What side are they on?”

I ponder this question that others have failed to. Upon its chest is a mysterious mark. At a glance, you would miss it, but another look would show it bears the warriors’ crest.

Sitting poised, and quiet, I continue to watch as the battle rages on around me.

Watching both the warriors and the enemies, I attempt to develop a plan. I continue to wait a little longer; soon my plan is set in motion. The masked figure to makes its move. Looks can be deceiving. One blow is all it took to nearly end the battle.

Only a few warriors remain.

“Help! Please, we beg of thou.”

They cry in a deafening voice – the screams are muffled – and no-one hears. Diluted by ignorance, soon the screams silenced. The traitor takes another blow. The battle is over; we lost. At an early age I was taught here is no "I" in team.

Apparently, we live in a world full of terrible mis-spellers. I suppose I cannot say much when I am always misspelled.

Over... and over again. #battle #poem #work #workethic #workproblems #doublemeanings