Question And Answer

Pity pulls at the emotions Empathy burns Conviction wavers. What is it like where you are? Why are you standing there with you hand stretched out? Where is your country now, Sir? Why is your skin peeling off? Why am I helpless to help you?

I wonder what its like to stand in your shoes, Sir, if only for a minute. I pause. Had you any shoes. Why can I not help you? Where is your soul? Is it there, gripped in your hand, wrapped in a brown paper bag? Is it in your honorable discharge notice? In your hospital bills? In you perscriptions that you cannot afford to fill?

Crossing the street now, I can hear you behind me, feel you staring at the back of my head. How is it that you came to be this way, Sir? Didn't you already work for food, serve your country for food, serve your country for medication, for care? Serve your country for happiness? For liberty? For health?

Across the street, Uncle Bush points at me, smiles and says, "Serve your country young man! Its your civic duty." Behind him glares the neon words, "Die for oil! It's the Right thing to do!"

Who knows who to believe? Did you suffer this inner battle, Sir? Were you plagued by doubt of your government? Did you ever try to speak out, only to be shut down by those who have the power? Were you ever face to face with a policeman in full riot gear, waiting for you to take the slightest movement so he can break your face? Have you ever been disgusted at the actions of your nation? Would you still die for it? Would you still die for me? Should I die for it? Why should I die for me? Why should I kill for you?

Can you answer me that, Sir?