did you take up the gun in your hands?
Why
did you turn the blade toward him?
Why
did you choose to fight,
even if it meant erasing your gentle smile?
Why
couldn’t you think of their families as you do of your own?
Why
did you believe in the lie of appearances,
rather than in what you truly believe?
Why
couldn’t you cherish the part of yourself
that weeps in silence?
Why
did you pretend not to see
that children still have a future?
Why
do you believe that a handful of adults can rule the world?
Why
must you forget who you truly are?
Why
don’t you feel that you are hurting yourself?
Why
have you forgotten
that nothing is born from conflict?
Why
can’t you see that a nation is not land,
but the people who live upon it?
Why
can’t you value the countless lives on this planet
that are not human?
If all I can offer
is a small, quiet prayer
If all I can give
are these few words, woven like this
Then I will go on praying
I will go on writing these words

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