put on a good face

say what, timid soldiers?

I know. the hurt is beyond skin deep.
such is life,
armour never fully latched up
when the battle starts raging.

the best chance for redemption
in your future purgatories
is the clouded air of pretend,
then.

storm this beach as if the
winds are behind you,
gales of destiny transforming the weakest strides
into the collective million man march.

don’t let the overcast dreariness wear;
“you better bring your own sun.”
the pantomime would be a useful fellow to mimic:
just go along with the charade.