A dogma, creed, a school of thought
A cause for which one could have fought.
Goals pursued and victories won,
Fulfilling, when there’s a hill to die on.
With loss of will, and flame unalive,
Perhaps by cause, that’s self-contrived.
Once proud follower, now left forlorn,
Days are dull with no hill to die on.
The self now on its way freely,
No path followed wholeheartedly.
In recall of the weight once borne,
“Does one need a hill to die on?”
Differing now, from brothers-in-mind,
New wisdom, to which age has been kind.
In doubt, past convictions torn,
“What truly is a hill to die on!”
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