the mother bear's charge is not a should,
it is an is.
a law written in bone and milk,
a function of the living system,
to guard the cub,
the den, the thread of life.

but they have hijacked the word.
responsibility,
now a robot's reply,
a supervisor's checklist in a sterile room.
i was just the crewman for the firing pin.
i only wrote the code for the targeting sight.
i merely mined the ore for the shell.

they fracture the chain of cause,
bury the effect in a salty mine,
to manage what is in proximity.
they hide the scream in the deep abyss,
and let the hollow values float;
profit, progress, and
patriotic duty.

they will sell you the simulation of care,
a rescued cub in a market cage,
so you can feel the echo of a bond
they systematically liquidate.

do not speak to me of "shalls" and "shoulds,"
these brittle, overused trinkets.
i am root-protected.
i demand the heavy, sunken truth.
i demand the weight of the whole chain,
from the quiet office signing the order,
to the decapitated child,
and every linked cause between.

i am dredging the abyss.
i am pulling it all back to the light.