I know you will ask.
There is no sense of it, from your angle.
You will say,
“Separately, we can help you.
Together, through fences and mistrust, we can join you.
Despite our poison, we can cure you.”
Snake oil at best. Arsenic at worst.
“Trust us. We will build a bridge, you and I.
The butt of this gun is our hammer.
Our words, the nails.
Pay no heed to the burn marks on the wood we bring.”
They are the charred planks of past bridges.
“Never mind the aggression, the anarchy left in our path.
Look beyond our actions and see our words.
Our intentions are pure, our strength is reliable.
We know how to heal you.”
And this I will say,
“This is my problem, not yours.
I can not risk you turning away at a critical moment.
I can not hold my tongue when you will claim to be the victim
of this atrocity of which you have not endured.”
“The strength of which you shout,
the hope of which you propose,
the clarity of which you seem to dwell
are all but missing from where you stand.”
“You claim trust, you claim virtue
as those closest to you walk away.
So now, walk with them.
Let me fight this in peace. Alone.”
I know I should ask.
There is no sense of it, from my angle.