I sorrow, but not for myself.
The kindness offered, clear and bright
Was a mask of value,
A lunatic's painting---
Accept his art, not his advice.
Graven, graven, the words and rules
Fade away.
Why is the real care covered
By the covered hatred?
Each corner, each brick
Is burned into mind
As it burns away.
The unfamiliar faces
Freshly charred with acne
Gave an untrusting gaze.
A dog among cats.
I spiraled into truth
As those faces vanished
Into the light
That I now see.
I worshiped a shiny god
With an aspiring accomplice.
But the deity had no need
Of its worshipers in the day
His intellect could not withstand.
Scorned for forgiveness,
Forgotten for compassion,
Condemned for acceptance,
Silenced for love.
All the chosen path,
Not narrow but blind,
Not wise but fearful
That the world might stick to its shoe.
It is not for myself,
The one who lied to escape,
But the friend shot down,
The erring one cut off,
The innocent imprisoned---
For them I sorrow.
In the snare of silence
Words take form like wind:
Faintly felt but not heeded,
The march to life is death
To a few.
Give them the rose of compassion
Lest they lose themselves in doctrine
Unwritten by God. Man is a clever author.
I did not see. I did not see.
Will they see
When there is nothing to wake them?
God save them. God save me,
For I cannot save myself
From piety, which is etched into the floor
As apathy is etched into the screen.
Save them, even as I sorrow,
For my grief is nothing at the sight
Of a God who can shine past a thousand
Of the darkest, dankest years.
He may yet live, and his breath is near.
(Written 2014, edited 2016.)
