Behind the Iris

At what point will I have cried enough that you offer me water? will I have screamed so much your own soul can no longer bear the pain?

will I have bled so profusely you're compelled to give of your life for mine? will my flesh have burned so severely you question whether you are really sane?

When will my death do more than bring bitter tears from the few who've come to love me over my life's many years?

When will What have we done? be the question that one more death compels introspection among even those who dismiss and jeer?