I know how much it means to you
to protect my health and safety.
And, for this purpose,
to stop the terror,
end the ballistic killing
within these disuniting States,
please ban the NRA,
and stop selling guns
to those with histories
of mental illness.
The statistics,
facts,
both real and alternative,
all inform quite clearly,
if you would put this same energy
you have invested
in keeping out
those who would reinvest in,
to helping out
those who already disinvest of our domestic peace
and nonviolence,
then this killing Association already here
might calm down
enough so you could hear
the silence of those seeking
absence of threat and violence.
Thanks so kindly
for your first priority attention
to these matters
of real lives and deaths,
in contrast to those you have imagined.
What is truth
What is truth? asked the patient;
Is it the cold (words of)
Diagnosis of impending death, grave numbers
And shadowy images that spell out
The compass of a life?
Is it the waving poppies that
Mark the fallen in Flanders fields;
Ironic memorials to youth and broken dreams,
Damning testament to grandiose indifference,
And doing the right thing.
Or is it the sad moment
When realisation comes; that this
Life together will become this life apart,
And roads fork and take different paths,
Disuniting souls.
I looked on truth when your
Courage deserted you, and choice was lost,
And you could not find the way to
Take the risk that I might fail you,
As others did.
But was it truth? There followed
Cold words, and chilling indifference,
And still I recoil from your silence;
But the images of your loving smile
Haunt me.
In truth there is a finality
And palpable certainty of ending;
In your silence, there is unknowiness,
Whether all was fiction, or whether
you care still.
White warriors battle in my blood and yours
Holy crusaders, a selfless, sacrificial corps
Sinister, malignant foes in red rivers quicken
Legions of paladins on the battlefield lay stricken
Now extend your scope, envision the whole globe
Behold this world wrapped in its rancid, rancorous robe
Dungeons, asylums built for the wicked, and culpable
Disuniting one body into the judge and the untouchable
“If a house be divided against itself, that house cannot stand”
This ancient, ancestral teaching we still cannot understand
Thousands of years have passed, the answer remains the same:
Nothing must be left in the shadows, forgotten, a victim of blame
Disuniting each golden silken strand
from an antique tapestry,
then gently setting them aside
An ole' brush is lifted from a bureau,
consumed by silver strands of pilus.
Thread & hair
intricately
interwoven into a
magnificent object-d-art,
now adorns a chair of
satin splendor,
like a laciniate leaf from
slivers of antiquities.
Priceless treasures
brought to light as tender
tiny stitches
collectively fashion
gold and silver of
foregone times.