MY BROTHER IS AN ORDINARY MAN

My brother is fearless.
I told him every time he took out his bag,
"This is a war, a real battlefield."
He ain't a saint or a noble,
or a gunman or a soldier.
My brother is just an ordinary guy.

Every time he walks out of the door,
I hold my breath and close my eyes.
He strides confidently to the field,
with each step followed by an army of Angels.
Until he returns home, I dare not blink.

He doesn't have a weapon like the army,
neither is he trained like the Navies or Marines.
I doubt he has a duffle bag of duvet,
an equipped pouch of meals, or a first aid kit.
My brother is just an ordinary juvenile.

I remember looking at his fearlessness;
he leans all his fears and nervousness behind
in my arms while I unceasingly pray.
His confidence is never in the gun he holds,
but rather in the soft beat of his heart
where the Almighty resides.

My brother is ordinary yet the bravest.
I am safe again today.