The Coward Dies Many Times

I've known a lot of cowards, 

People plagued with the disease; 

They demand respect and courtesy,

Then dish volatility whenever they please.  

I've watched their fear of pain 

Be the root of all suffering,  

Then require their children, 

To inherently do the buffering.  

Cowards always cry victim,  

Never taking responsibility;

They look at others, never the mirror,  

Too ashamed to sit in vulnerability.  

I wonder if the coward dies many times, 

Or actually never lives, 

Never feels the sunlight of truth on their face  

The warmth that honesty gives.  

Cowards don't have the heart for empathy,  

Too paralyzed by narcissism,

To them hindsight stinks of guilt,

Regretting their past was built on brutalism. 

They spin a tale of a protector,

But a protector of whom, they'll never admit,  

Always trying to save face, one not worth saving,  

You just end up waiting for the obit.