As we dig deeper
Into our fear and loathing,

Parapets we build.

These insecure monuments

Intimidating neighbors.


Those who are without

Imagine treasures within.

“To protect a gem,

Must be why they fortify!”

Yet those “gems” are hollow shells.


Empty testaments.

Victories of our disgrace.

Statues of hatred.

Whose presence, alone, invites

The very assault we dread.


In this world of ours,

how can some remain unmoved
When confronted with
Injustice and suffering
On this vast expansive scale?

Those heart fortresses

That we labor to buttress

Keep not villains out

But rather trap us within

To fester in our terror.

Panic’s Hidden Damage 

When that panicked flight is run

and you stand bent, heaving for breath,

pause to assay the damage done

in your mad dash from imagined death.

The cuts and scrapes and nicks and tears

inflicted on your skin and clothes

Pale beside those fearful stares;

They’ll heal and mend, but what of those?

They’ll linger on, for quite awhile,

like articles archived away

deep in some drawer, a dusty file

saved to show, some distant day,

offered up as specious proof

That you’re not calm, cool, and aloof!