“There is only one way to avoid criticism: do nothing, say nothing, and be nothing.” – Aristotle

An arrow to the heart 

when criticism descends

The fresh saplings wither

 in proportion to the whip of words

It's a fine art, 

marshalling the spiritual troops within

Addressing faults in performance,

training and schooling healthy responses

Fighting the natural inclination of self,

Of fear, of pretence

Gradually instilling discipline

Of body, mind and spirit

Until good habits are instilled

Order forged from the chaos within

And gradual ability to follow orders grows

To serve the whole, not one.

But outside criticism cuts

Through the command chain

Authority is lost, upheaval reigns

Each platoon stands shell-shocked.

Progress stops, action halts

Reprimands lacerate embryonic souls

That had begun to blossom

with deeds but now falter and fade

There is a dreadful questioning

a doubting of lessons learned

breeches in the once serried lines

As each finds the fault in someone else, not them.

It will take time to settle the rank and file

Trust has been violated

Orders are now dissected not obeyed

Progress lost in confusion, at this unbidden intrusion.

So keep your peace with others

Guard your tongue, 

make your words as mild as milk

There is a reason excess of speech is a deadly poison.

Instead of releasing that toxicity

Look inward to your own battalions

Get busy with your weary troops

Who stand idly by, while you criticise a foreign army.