and righteous indignation flares...
the essence of defining is prestige.
So may I learn to love.
So may I cease to predicate
my wisdom on cliche,
my fatherland, my god.
So may my pride swell valiantly
when I may see
a beauty only, not a fault
in every soul who breathes upon the earth.
May I be blind, may I be weak
and drop the gavel from my hand
as everyman walks by...
for there is grace in front of me
and all the lack of it is mine.
My love must flow from deep inside
my heart and not my mind,
and if I make of it, a product
of my intellect I want to feel
the heat of shame upon my cheek,
the rising scourge of judgement
I alone may throw
upon my sorry flesh; I need accept
no less than fire upon my head.
Were I the less humane
and lack a god to thunder at me,
I should be a bootless cinder
wandering within the cold embrace
of some divine contemptuous space.
In point of fact,