Debris
Avarice clouds
Judgment.
The innocent
Fall by the wayside.
A cloud of mendacity.
Piles of refuse and debris.
The remains of
Many before who
Succumbed to the whims of
Meager, broken minds.
Sense
Faced with
Impossible
Choices,
They make
One that
They hope
Will be the
Least painful.
Sometimes there
Isn’t an easy answer,
But there is
An opportunity to
Hopefully draw upon
An inner sense
Of decency and
Compassion.
Incalculable
Picking up his
Fragile body from
The side of the road
Because nobody else will.
Wishing everyone had
Someone to recognize
His incalculable value,
How much he matters.
Trash
So afraid of the churning
Rabble of miscreant panhandlers
Maliciously trying to get
Their grubby hands
On his wealth,
He went to great pains
Minimizing and demonizing,
A self-appointed,
Scepter-shaking saint,
Piously declaring
Them trash.
Suppressed
A mundane street
Racked with fear.
Unfulfilled dreams
Hastily banished.
Superficial conversations
About nothing important.
Minimizing risk,
Averse to change.
Laughter suppressed,
Letting life happen to them.
Gathering
They stand around,
Chests puffed out like
So many parading turkeys,
Trying to best each other
With stories of dubious
Exploits and successes.
The same anecdotes bandied
About with little variation
From year to year,
Reliving past glories
That never existed
In the first place.
Gathering after gathering,
No change or growth
Infiltrates their ritual,
Just obstinate sameness.
Learning, Laughing, Growing
She peruses a beloved album
Of fading photographs and
Remembers the days when she
Used to walk to school with
Her brother and sister.
There was never any question
Whether her teachers would
Be there, her desk, books,
Exhilarating days spent
Learning, laughing, growing.
She goes for a stroll,
Passing the empty shell of
What used to be her school,
Left to decay instead of
Welcoming eager children.
Prickly
He lost count of
How many times
He had to
Bite his tongue,
Change his
Narrative in order
To not elicit
Prickly reactions,
Reflexive retorts from
A frightened squid
Spewing ink,
Clouding the waters
Of understanding,
Face an impassable
Wall built to keep the
Barbarians out,
Endure a superficial
Relationship built
On strict hierarchy,
Avoid being himself.
Fun
They sit down to
Play a game but it
Soon becomes clear that
This is much more than
An innocent diversion.
The contest becomes
Heated, mirth gives way
To intensity, each one
Of them trying to vanquish
The other, neither
Willing to cede an inch,
Risk losing face.
Eventually something has
To give, the adult
Jubilantly trounces the
Child and gloats a while,
What passes for fun.
Capitulation
Although I wish
It were different,
I have no expectation
That it will ever change –
Stubbornness being
One of those qualities
That doesn’t lend itself
To self-reflection or
Capitulation of any kind;
The need to protect a
Molten core of fear
Much stronger than any
Noble impulse.