A free-verse, thought-provoking poem about honor.

Honor is a most peculiar thing.
Some people place honor
above all other humanly virtues.
In some cultures, life without honor
is too shameful to be endured.
Throughout civilized time, the
highest accolade has been
“He is an honorable man.”
Many a good man has died
in the name of honor.

Still, some people discard
their honor as easily as
a soiled shirt, with scarcely
a thought to its value.
For a handful of gold coins,
for an adulterous tryst,
for love of alcohol or drugs,
for a cowardly escape,
for failure to do one’s duty,
honor is forever thrown away
without a care, without regret.

It’s an oddity among humans that
those people who prize honor
look down upon those lacking honor
as lesser beings, as damaged souls,
as unfortunate, failed individuals.
Those who place no value in honor,
however, appear most unconcerned.
In turn, they consider those who forgo
ill-gotten wealth or illicit sex or who
display courage in the face of death
to defend a principle or their country
as fools; they laugh at such men’s pride.
Yes, honor is a most peculiar thing.