“A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds.” -Percy Bysshe Shelley
Thursday, March 24, 2016
Fear Fiends
If every single one of us
stopped right Now-
pointing aim and angle-
no longer letting out the line
tightening the drag
on those baiting fear
would schools be safe?
If every personhood
could forget they ever saw terror
we could forget its name and
claim for attention and mention.
If we remained strangers
violence would be candy
that decays our good taste.
If all of our hands were clean
we could touch without harm,
and move without touch
yet the lines are long
and gloved with grime.
If we knew how to weild love
without fear of rejection
violence would be in vain.
This stress has made a bloody mess
of bones to pick and bodies to bury.
We have come weak with atrophy
choosing wealth over value,
terrified by the tought of loss.
The fear we put here
as bearers of terrors
we make
hearts ache.
Image By Popular Publications (Scanned cover of pulp magazine) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.
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