Is it the dark tunnel through which the bullet
Travels to draw blood and replace breath
With the reek of death?
Is it the bland plunder in schools of the culled kids
For their colour or deep rage born
From the system’s scorn?
Is it the grab-n-lockup foolishness you’re pulling
When any born cause is a menace for you:
Jail or the Reaper’s costume?
Is it the canisters seeking kids’ gullets
With gaseous odours of real painful
Teary eyes, pitiful?
Where’s your power? In the uniform or weapon?
In the blood on the floor, or the one on your hands?
In the lives of the sons and daughters not to see tomorrow?
Where’s your power? I would have thought of more
In food for the poor, sick souls’ solace, in infrastructure!
Where’s your power? I guess we’ll never know.