The Draft Dodger

The Draft Dodger
by G. Stolyarov II

I have been sentenced to a war.
And my offense? Naught but my age.
I'll suffer pestilence and gore,
And die upon a foreign stage.
The verdict has been passed by those
Who wish to equal me to rags,
Plug sand into a breathing nose,
Borrow my life, return dog-tags.

They tell me, "Freedom is not free,"
And thus they seek mine to deprive.
But no! I'll courage have to flee,
To choose to prosper and survive!
The right that mine was from the womb,
That I had bought with Reason's gold,
I shall not lay before a tomb,
But will Self's Shrine from robbers hold.

I claim no more than what is mine;
To rise each morning when I will,
To build, compose, create, refine,
And heed no Congressman's dread bill,
Whose parasitic voting bloc
My soul as spoils of war would claim,
No noble war of awe and shock,
But rabble-rousers' power game.

When nations seek me for their slave,
Their cause, their plight shall pass in vain.
Let no man give but what he gave,
Of his own will, for his own gain.
Freedom can't stand on sacrifice;
With blood and bones I shan't it craft.
I shall not offer prey to vice,
And, proudly, I shall dodge this draft!

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