What To Do
by Odin Roark

What might he do,
As underfoot battlefields swell,
Killing’s crudely constructed hate
Readies dismemberment of another warrior
But a step away?

What did you do
When dutiful uniforms knocked at your door
Their faces of telling sadness
Delivering news you didn’t want to hear?

What did I do,
Knowing my power remained
As but one citizen,
One precious vote to cast?

What are we to do
As greed begets more power
Power corrupts the innocent
Innocence succumbs to mockery
Mockery becomes the norm?

Beyond the obvious…

What can be done
When the sun has nothing left to warm,
Rain no thirst to quench,
Wind but dust to blow
Air serving only to suffocate breath?

Might what to do
Be the unanswerable question,
Given we’ve learned so well
War’s propensity for destruction,
Nourishing the quintessential resolve,
Demise by our own self-loathing hand?