It Must Be Me
There are none left upon the field
To take up the cause and rally to the flag,
Grasp the banner of civility in defiance,
March through the wreckage of this home.
Declare “No More”.
Defeat is marked on bloodied faces
And cries of “Mercy, Mercy” go unheeded.
A bitter thing to admit defeat
So near the end of long and bitter struggle
That saw much back and forth.
More give than take became my lot
Forcing my withdrawal from battle.
Considering surrender, considering options.
Tallying up the cost, both plus and minus.
If I’m not offered reasonable terms,
I’ve come to terms with myself
And with my foe.
Surrender? No.
I will not do it.
This resolve demands new strategies,
New tactics to survive the coming occupation.
When faced with bitter words, do not retaliate in kind
Nor strike with whiplash tongue to hurt and to subdue.
Seek to offer, by example, the ways of peace
And that begins with me.
If I cannot be gentle with myself
How can I show that gentleness to others?
If that kindness does not rest in me
Where will I find that wellspring
That begs, implores me to offer it to others?
There are now none to carry on the struggle.
It must, of needs, be me.
