Martyrdom

There are two kinds of not giving in, there is the one that is holy and the other of being stubborn within.

One will not betray for what he knows is true, the other will not lose to choose.

Enduring pain without needing to protest, making the master of pain the willing test. 

The living pain and therefore I am, in my command to my monogram.

 to change, even when proof iis hammering hard upon the roof.

Is it principle, or is it pride, afraid to say, I was wrong inside?

Here martyrdom becomes myth, because history loves a death with pith.

We forget: for every glorious last stand, a thousand died for a stupid command.

A love so pure it needs no compromise, for his suffering buys his heaven as exercise.

It does not ask if the cause is just, suffering itself becomes the must.

To endure is to be morally above, to bleed is to prove my love.

Martyrdom is beautiful when principle costs, die hard is tragic when the principle is lost.

One dies to keep the soul intact, the other dies to keep up the act.

The question aroused, does suffering is well, or who profits from this hell?

The better question would be, how to  surrendered and let divinity be the fee. 

No one dies for knowing to be true, one dies for what one wants to be true.

One need to realize that martyrs create faith, but faith is asking for grace. 

The vain conclusion in the painful art is naive, the master smiles by choice in a lighter serene belief.