Not all monsters have bodies
no,
some monsters are whispers in the middle of the night
the whispers which never stop
they come rising up from the pit of your stomach
the back of your neck
and the lungs in your chest
these monstrous whispers
creeping in from open window
on full moon nights
they say the things
which we know aren’t right
but we believe anyway
these voices
they say things
like you are not good enough
just give up
know when enough is enough
they laugh in moments of silence
come creeping in with self-doubt
not a whimper
not a shout
just a sense of stillness when the lights go out
keeping you up at night on the edge of a knife
too exhausted
to keep up the fight
you worry
how long will these monsters have their foothold
in the panicked pounding of my eardrums?
these monsters which spit on self-love
and lick their gums at the sight
of a broken down frown
of a person wound too tight
but these monsters don’t have bodies
arms legs claws and fangs
these monsters are just voices
all you have to do is drown them out

1
We, whose lungs fill with the sweetness of day.
Who in May admire trees flowering
Are better than those who perished.

We, who taste of exotic dishes,
And enjoy fully the delights of love,
Are better than those who were buried.

We, from the fiery furnaces, from behind barbed wires
On which the winds of endless autumns howled,
We, who remember battles where the wounded air roared in
paroxysms of pain.
We, saved by our own cunning and knowledge.

By sending others to the more exposed positions
Urging them loudly to fight on
Ourselves withdrawing in certainty of the cause lost.

Having the choice of our own death and that of a friend
We chose his, coldly thinking: Let it be done quickly.

We sealed gas chamber doors, stole bread
Knowing the next day would be harder to bear than the day before.

As befits human beings, we explored good and evil.
Our malignant wisdom has no like on this planet.

Accept it as proven that we are better than they,
The gullible, hot-blooded weaklings, careless with their lives.

2
Treasure your legacy of skills, child of Europe.
Inheritor of Gothic cathedrals, of baroque churches.
Of synagogues filled with the wailing of a wronged people.
Successor of Descartes, Spinoza, inheritor of the word 'honor',
Posthumous child of Leonidas
Treasure the skills acquired in the hour of terror.

You have a clever mind which sees instantly
The good and bad of any situation.
You have an elegant, skeptical mind which enjoys pleasures
Quite unknown to primitive races.

Guided by this mind you cannot fail to see
The soundness of the advice we give you:
Let the sweetness of day fill your lungs
For this we have strict but wise rules.

3
There can be no question of force triumphant
We live in the age of victorious justice.

Do not mention force, or you will be accused
Of upholding fallen doctrines in secret.

He who has power, has it by historical logic.
Respectfully bow to that logic.

Let your lips, proposing a hypothesis
Not know about the hand faking the experiment.

Let your hand, faking the experiment
No know about the lips proposing a hypothesis.

Learn to predict a fire with unerring precision
Then burn the house down to fulfill the prediction.

4
Grow your tree of falsehood from a single grain of truth.
Do not follow those who lie in contempt of reality.

Let your lie be even more logical than the truth itself
So the weary travelers may find repose in the lie.

After the Day of the Lie gather in select circles
Shaking with laughter when our real deeds are mentioned.

Dispensing flattery called: perspicacious thinking.
Dispensing flattery called: a great talent.

We, the last who can still draw joy from cynicism.
We, whose cunning is not unlike despair.

A new, humorless generation is now arising
It takes in deadly earnest all we received with laughter.

5
Let your words speak not through their meanings
But through them against whom they are used.

Fashion your weapon from ambiguous words.
Consign clear words to lexical limbo.

Judge no words before the clerks have checked
In their card index by whom they were spoken.

The voice of passion is better than the voice of reason.
The passionless cannot change history.

6
Love no country: countries soon disappear
Love no city: cities are soon rubble.

Throw away keepsakes, or from your desk
A choking, poisonous fume will exude.

Do not love people: people soon perish.
Or they are wronged and call for your help.

Do not gaze into the pools of the past.
Their corroded surface will mirror
A face different from the one you expected.

7
He who invokes history is always secure.
The dead will not rise to witness against him.

You can accuse them of any deeds you like.
Their reply will always be silence.

Their empty faces swim out of the deep dark.
You can fill them with any feature desired.

Proud of dominion over people long vanished,
Change the past into your own, better likeness.

8
The laughter born of the love of truth
Is now the laughter of the enemies of the people.

Gone is the age of satire. We no longer need mock.
The sensible monarch with false courtly phrases.

Stern as befits the servants of a cause,
We will permit ourselves sycophantic humor.

Tight-lipped, guided by reasons only
Cautiously let us step into the era of the unchained fire.

I've been to all ends of the earth looking for you but you are not direction
I searched the sky for you but you are not a constellation
I looked to the sea but you are not the waves
When I searched the trees I was disappointed by your absence but you are not a bird
I looked under the ground but you are not the roots of the pines
I dissected every line I ever wrote but you are not a collection of words
When I listened to the wind I couldn't help myself and I tried to hear you but you are not a whisper
Screaming in caves creates company but you are not an echo
I gathered a crew and set sail in treacherous weather but you are not a lighthouse
I've heard the floor boards squeak and the walls moan but you are not a house
This car has carried me for ninety five thousand miles but you are not the highway
I climbed to the tops of mountains but you are not a feeling of victory
With thoughts of warmth I struck a match and lit the woods on fire but you are not heat
I stood alone in the night watching the snow fall but you are not the cold
Hundreds of hours spent in the ICU have proven I am sick but you are not the antidote
I melted thousands of renown paintings but you are not inspiration
Millions of scientific advances have been torn apart but you are not understanding
I've searched the words of prophets philosophers and teachers but you are not wisdom
They drew blood from my veins but you are not life
A psychic read my mind but you are not thought
I visited with inventors but you are not an idea
But the day she ripped my heart out of my chest I found you nestled inside safe and sound
And it dawned on me that you are my sunshine
*~W.C.