Undesignated Sailor

Photo by Lysander Yuen on Unsplash

Soldier of little years, little fears, little tears
Had to be the designated hitter, sat in the office while other set sails
Not too many whys, when motivation cries to flee the self, cravings to become someone of use, of service.
Pen’s ink dripped through the khaki uniform as the eagle crashed from the skies of no return.
The designated sailor was meant to learn, through inaction.
Let it broil, let it burn.