I am my evil twin

when I let the worst of me

get the best of me.

A word for the peaceful muslim,
who has no stomach for violence,
no passion for conflict,
no appetite for blood,

Stop laying your job at my feet.

I know you're not all mad, or murderers,
And know good and well
that most of you just want
the same thing that we want.

To raise your families in peace.  

Trouble is, you see, that the peaceful majority
has never been relevant
in the shadow of the violent minority.
They fly your flag, and they keep a ****** agenda.

Just ask the Germans of 1945.

So I thank you to stop making it my job
to change public opinion about your religion.
If yours is one of peace, then prove it.
You've a lot of history to overcome, but...

Start by curbing your savages.  
Then start loving your enemies.
Then try becoming their friend.

When I am an old man I want to be a gentleman,
with perfect manners, sound and articulate speech,
and refined opinions founded on solid, balanced judgment.

To be revered would be well, but I'll settle for respected;
people are more apt to overlook your faults,
and keep their expectations of you more reasonable.

I would possess at least half the strength of my youth,
both in body and in mind,
and twice the faith, never staggering at the promise.

I would be as steadfast in my convictions as I was at twenty,
but with a lifetime of wisdom to back up the zeal;
I would be a voice of both faith and reason.

I would be mindful of the finish line ahead of me,
and would be certain to possess such a rapport with my Maker
as to anticipate, and not dread, what lay beyond.

Threescore and ten is an average, not a promise, and all too easy to take for granted.  
The years pass, not with the ticking of the clock, but with the silent hissing of sand through the center of an hourglass.  
Their passage is felt more than heard; their piling at the bottom a slow and subtle thing.
The fighter can grasp all he wants.  
He will never hold it all.  
In that fight, time is always the winner, and the grave always receives the trophy.

Winding and throwing
A blow like summer thunder,
He misses the mark

Wind, hard-blown from a city
on the shore of Lake Michigan
gray-blue sky over water
gray-red sky over town
the tornado sirens fall silent
and the skyscrapers blur
with the sudden onrushing
of rain.

The snow has stopped
And the firs shed their diamonds
To flash in the sun

They are nine and seven, men and women, brothers and sisters all, most of them married, two or three wishing they were, and all burdened by the test their instructor has laid upon them without notice.  
Anxiety, in such cases, is a quick companion, ready at an instant to stand at your shoulder, and to whisper every conceivable fear into your heart as a certainty from which there is scarcely a chance of escape.  If anxiety is a house cat, then a pop quiz is a can opener.
  
A cough from one of the women…   a pen rolls on a table.  A page is turned.  The class drags on…

A cool summer night;
the blades of the fan echo
a passing airplane.

I gathered dry wood
in the middle of winter,
building a rough nest,

But when I finished
I set it ablaze, thinking,
This should be a pyre.

I don't mind it much,
this controlled descent, to whit,
going down in flames.

If I burn it all,
I'll burn as an offering;
I will rise again.

The phoenix, I have read,
does it all the time.

Gray sky and thunder

The rain follows, ever falling, ever blowing

in a wind of discontent

I see the emerald leaves

dripping in the trees

and I see that a single leaf

is assaulted

by a spout of water

from the rooftop

shines like fire
in the front of my mind.
With a hundred thousand memories
piled beneath me
a mountain of Past
teachers of life
their heavy price extracted
paid in full
with blood and tears
thousands of nights
spent in remembering
and now,
I hold another kind of degree
and it pays another kind of wage..

The nice guy, he may finish last
but he's been running a different race.