If not for the least of us, I have no hope for the best.
We gather up, get up, get over
near the doors, don't shove, mind
the still shuffling and no peeking
around all of us contained
gathered with but not on purpose
I smell marshmallows, here!
fluffing the stench of worn public use
sniffing around its source
a bloated child-man accessorized
what an unlikely source of pleasure
A poor man's face burned clean off
he owns a cheek from chin to hairline
and a blank eye to keep it company
tapping with his stick
his ears are pristine
a stolen view of a breast
nestled there in a crescent of black
like a babe in swaddlin'
soft and pink and crying for attention
without a sound
but the doors open and we move
in a snapshot our variety is one
for the moment
we are dispersed
and we go out
The definition of tragedy is not the same as my understanding of the word. I looked it up before writing this so I could be clear about what the topic was and why. It seems that the modern definition, or perhaps the American definition, has descended from it's Greek roots to become a limp-wristed "something sad that happens."
A pity.
I was warned years ago by a good friend of two things. One was 9/11. The other was how my world would change were I to take a look at why 9/11 was going to happen. I didn't take that look then, and frankly I thought my friend was nuts.
Now, I'm nuts and know now that he was right on both counts. As I've spent the past 5 years examining my previous beliefs, challenging the accepted norms, and weathering the tides of righteousness I've come to see a great deal. In retrospect I'm not certain it's a vista I really appreciate.
I've been pilloried for god knows how many various views, statements, opinions, actions, and just about anything one could think of. I wince at writing god without a capital G, for memory of being corrected. Throughout these trials I've come to appreciate how little desire there is for discovering truth - regardless of what it is. One might think I'd simply give up "if it's so hard," and I've been called a yearning martyr more than once (it's lost it's sting.)
I had no idea how unwelcome my views were until they were no longer the views of my peers. Suddenly, shockingly, I found that the slightest deviance with my "open minded" associates resulted in increasing punishment levels, culminating ultimately in exile. The number of times I've been dismissed entirely without even a hearing, as if the mere sound of disagreement would be too great an offense to bear, has surprised me. I don't think it ever gets old.
Exiled, dismissed, scorned, ridiculed, and unprotected except by those from whom I would not ask it, I concede at last that my friend was right. My world has changed, and although I am lonelier for it, there is absolutely no other way I could be - foretold of my fate, I fought it every step of the way and find myself now recognizing that the struggle itself has brought about the end of that world.
With sin at my heels and the light in my eyes
I am pushed by fear and pulled by ambition