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.

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