It was late into that viscious seasonal transition
with sticky heat grating at the loose barricades
the confused masses put up around
patterns of docile thought.

I remember entire cities
churning out their leaders as children
and dressing our most vulnerable
up for combat.

I remember each first moment
when another person knew
how painful it was
to just have it all happen.

The sweet sting of a tireless wind
at least taught us what momentum existed,
but never how to resist the pull
and claim it as our own.

Whatever took us kept us
up until the very end,
and we expected to wake up
panting, embracing a new land.

And then the storm stopped
and the eyelids pried open
against the settling dust
that encapulated the chaos.

Nothing was harmed and no one was moved
and the waters reclaimed a normal flow
but they all just sat with nowhere to go
in shock that their, "right here" hadn't changed.

Not right here
nor the now
nor the us
nor any "them".

We sweet human creatures
are built to seek shelter
to make it grow
into tragic stagnance.

Show me love
like the love that paints
the grass with light
when morning rays reach out
through the dead of space
to embrace the Earth each day.

Lay me softly
down into a bed of clouds
to match the comfort I would
show to that someone somewhere
who could show me truth.

Here and now
sing whatever song you want
because the dawning life's beauty
comes to those who call
for something new.

Barriers of silence ***** between thoughts;
ideas fly swiftly- quick for assault.
Faith is believing, and yet, so is hatred:
believing that violence should sprout from a fault.

Panic seems pointless with no direct threat,
but passionate parties may always persuade
the vulnerable masses that dose off in class
until one shy doubt turns into one grand crusade.

Some follow shadows of half-hearted speakers
who cast magic words like a fairy tale witch.
Most never realize that as they draw swords
for a misguided army, they sew their own stitch.

Cities to marvel at now lay in ruin.
Striking young muses have been stripped of grace,
though often these faces aren’t pummeled by nature,
but swiftly destroyed by some “better race”.

“**** those deceivers! Down with the wicked!”
Enraged by injustice, they charge and they swarm
until all the “righteous” paint warm hope through violence
becoming the enemy’s worst fear reborn.

Sometimes we despise those who bring a friend hurt
or passively snarl at those we can’t describe,
but until we embrace that we all make mistakes
we are nothing but lookers into the other side.