Am I the one that bends to help, and hastens just to care,
Or the one that walks on by with little time to spare?
Am I the one that dries the tears, that soothes the shaking fears,
Or do I cower in corners deeply frightened to despair?
Am I the one that stands with shoulders tall, counted in the fight,
Or the one the runs and hides from battles torrid plight?
Am I the one that children ask and mothers tend to hear,
Or am I the noise that chatters on when loved ones shed a tear?
Am I the voice for those without, that suffer needlessly,
Or am I the one to turns my head pretending not to see?
Am I the one that cracks the whip of anger and discontent,
Or the one with pleasant smile that quietly consents?
Am I the one that offers cheer and help to broken hearts,
Or the one that smugly turns my nose at foulness of the scent?
Am I the one to wear a crown of thorns as blood runs to the ground,
Or the one that sits with scratching pen recording it all down?
Am I so crass that I can smile while martyrs die in vain,
Or one that hastens now to spread the word of pain?
- Trish 2011