Written by: Cyndi MacMillan

You have taken opportunity
And eviscerated it with intent,
Laying snares and bear traps
with savoie faire impunity.

Who are you?

You sit on your hard pew
as you nod your head, sleeping,
but when you kneel it is only to
sever the Achilles’ heel of
guardian angels, weeping.

There, a child is begging,
There, hunger is creeping, creeping,
There, an innocent man behind bars
There, pain. There, war.

Your pen is still.
Instead you are

encouraging hate
like hell-on-fire and crusading
resentment, bigotry and misogyny,
truth evading, your rage waving,
blind to your own hypocrisy,
spouting drivel and cruelty 
and all under the pretence 
of defenseless poetry.

What did poetry do to you?

Verse feels a responsibility 
to spread the word, un-cage masses,
speak for the nations still gagged,
bring equality to the unequal,
send dreams to the lost,
bleed for the bled and envisions
bounty for those unfed.

What did you do to poetry?

Dry your spittle
and swallow your curses
reverse your violent blows.

Why you do what you do?
Heaven knows. 
Oh, yes. It knows.

*For the Angels on Soup who keep the candles in the windows and tend to peace. 
Love to all.