I said i never wanted to take prisoners.
But here they are
Lined up like corn in the field begging
For their sickle
Rotting in disbelief
I am frozen in fear
The not knowing
The inexperience
My blundering stupidity.
Yet this soil is mine
Those were my seeds
And I paid dearly for them
Heartbroken kernels.
And these are the calloused hands
That tend this field
I never left its side
I would cut you loose,
But I'm no reaper.