Thoughts as the Guillotine Drops

What if I was in jail?  
Would I suicide day one,  
my spirit too frail.  
Would I hide me a gun  
and shoot it at pale skinned inmates  
tucking their tails, so I'm shot down  
by some guard?  
Or would I stick  
to some guard  
who'd have me under his wing?  
 
Would I crack jokes and tragically sing?  
Would I get myself into solitary?  
Living with thoughts like  
'these men are too scary',  
Would I ever shave?  
Would I let myself grow hairy?  
 
Would I drop soap  
and then shower nary?  
Would I play ball in the yard  
purposely airing?  
Could I share food with those  
responsible for ripping and tearing  
feathers off of canaries, young?  
Would I miss the sun?  
That, I can say I would  
 
But would I find God?  
Would I become one of the cogs  
in mechanical cross  
or would I stay lost?  
 
Would I keep to my own  
rather agnostic mix asunder  
and I wonder,  
would law stick  
or slip from my grip  
as I turn raw  
and the wicked in my  
flawed wick gets lit.  
 
Would I illuminate  
or just flicker?  
Grow small or shrink bigger?  
Sit tall or stand to hand bandits my vigor?  
In prison walls, I just don't know  
 
Would I stomp or resign  
to b-lining on the tips of my toes?  
Would my nose stay clean?  
Would I drink toilet booze  
and use my caboose to hide these things?  
Would I be a fiend?  
Would I make a shiv?  
Would I tie a rope?  
 
Would I live and let live  
or recruit cut throats  
to kill everybody  
and use their bodies for boats?  
I don't know  
 
If I was a soldier  
would I kill or just fold?  
Hide or be bold?  
Do as I'm told  
or try to stray from the fold?  
Would I evade my noble,  
stay my soul  
from doing something courageous,  
staying in my hole for long nights  
till I spied the wave of flags, white?  
 
Would I throw a grenade?  
Would I tell everyone at home  
every shot that I made?  
Would I keep my lips tight?  
 
Would I squeeze shut eyelids  
to resist nightmarish sights or  
would I flip my lid and just fight  
all out?  
 
Bolt action rifles  
becoming all I'm about  
Would I shout?  
 
Would I cry?  
Would I scream?  
Would I die?  
Would I dream of dying  
as a hero then kill zero?  
 
Would I give hope to my people?  
Would I be a medic, a captain,  
would I be evil?  
Would I rip hearts from those still breathing?  
Would I start deleting  
families and children  
during their screaming  
and would I cease then?  
 
Would I see war  
as having no end?  
Would my morals bend?  
Would I stay true to myself,  
do I know  
who I am?  
 
Am I a blank canvas every morning?  
Am I colors to blend?  
 
Am I one to send letters?  
Am I the fox or the hen?  
The troop or its pen?  
 
Am I wire with barb?  
Is mine to lie quiet in cold dirt  
or to fall trying?  
Would I be a soldier of worth?  
 
Do you believe in rebirth?  
Well, this is 'what if' dilemmas  
dripping from wrists  
so listen and sit  
 
If I was a president,  
would I rule with a fist?  
Would I sit leaders down and  
strongly insist mine is the way,  
say I've no flex, no give, no sway  
 
Say yours is not to question  
Yours is to say yes and to quiver  
Yours is to shiver  
Yours is to let cash flow  
along boats on rivers  
through my ports  
 
Yours is to accept exports  
Mine is extortion, torture and corpses  
Mine is to contort  
mine is to lie  
Yours is to cover up for me  
Yours is to smile  
because I am worth while  
 
I will sell crap  
catering to your every old woman and child  
Mine is vile  
Mine is to not be defiled or besmirched  
Mine is to roll down streets in style  
Mine is big rims and beauty beguiled  
Yours is dirt  
 
Yours is washing shirts  
in a Nile  
Mine is to flirt with  
the Queens on the top of the pile  
 
I am weapons  
I am missiles, I am nukes  
Yours is to be bowing  
Yours is submissive  
you are whimpering truce,  
mine to cut loose  
 
I am wisdom astute  
You are fed off of nuts  
and browning fruit  
fallen off trucks  
Mine is to reside as king Tut, crowned  
Yours is ignoring your ancestors noose  
tightly wound
 
Mine is the way, the word  
 
Mine is the law  
Your flight that of some injured bird  
 
Mine a macaw  
Mine is precise,  
Mine is sipping  
water with ice  
Mine is murder and war  
mine is tyrannical strike  
or maybe I'd  just play nice  
If I were..