Brian Hankins, that’s my name,
Counting dollars was my game.
Finance seemed a solid track,
'Til I felt my soul was slack.
Mom and Dad both did the trade,
So, finance seemed like plans well laid.
Retirement funds and tax reports—
Oh, the thrill! (Well… of sorts).
But something felt a little hollow,
Money, numbers—nothing to follow.
My brother cleans up water waste,
While I just count what folks have chased.
Then I met some Army guys,
With discipline and steely eyes.
They weren’t all just big and tough—
Their hearts were made of hero stuff.
One told me of a war-torn place,
Where people cried and hugged with grace.
And suddenly it seemed quite clear,
Finance? Nah, I should be here!
So I called my cousin, Bob,
Turns out he’s a Ranger snob.
Said, “It’s tough, but man, it’s great—
Better sign up now, don’t wait!”
So here I am, my mind is set,
A soldier’s life? No more regret!
Forget the stocks, forget the banks,
I'm off to earn some real-world ranks.
Sincerely, Hankins—future tough,
And hey—this poem’s proof enough!
