Molon Labe Poem by tele seal

The oldest young men.
Men of iron. These iron men.
These young men in old souls, worn minds and bodies. Worn boots and wise faces.
So many tales. So many stories that we can only tell each other. If you only knew what we few know.
All go in fully aware that in the end you will carry us out on our shields.
Of course we know the flame would burn but still we had to place our fingers to the heat because thats where the fire lives
And now we wear the scars.
some on the inside and others on the out
the inevitable conclusion of living in death in order that others have life