Doesn’t Everyone?

Sometimes I ache.

It’s part of being me.

Doesn’t everyone?

Sometimes I fear

that which I can not control.

Doesn’t everyone?

Sometimes my pain and fear

drive me to unwise actions.

Doesn’t everyone’s?

Sometimes I regret

the consequences of those acts.

Doesn’t everyone?

Sometimes I hope

I can be a better soul.

Doesn’t everyone?

Sometimes I pray

for a divine guiding hand.

Doesn’t everyone?

Sometimes I love.

Doesn’t everyone?

Doesn’t everyone?

Snow Day Exodus

Exodus Chapter 2 Verse 1-5

  1. And lo, ye shall encounter many more obstacles
  2. And try as thee might, the locust wood shall not succumb to thy saw.
  3. Thou heavest mightily against the bough and yet it remaineth obdurate and immobile before thine efforts
  4. And yet, brother, despair not, for thou hast a dutiful village
  5. And the Lord hath endowed them with the power of the mighty Kubota.

Questions of Heroes and Saints

Do heroes have to be perfect

in order to earn our respect?

Must they be free from all blemish?

Is that what we’ve come to expect?

How much stain, how much tarnish,

how much of a character blemish

can be glossed over by splashing

on coats of whitewash and varnish

before the seething and gnashing

of the oppressed leads to the trashing

of monument to those held dear

in eruptions of violent clashing?

The answers, my friends, are clear.

Let’s open our ears and try to hear

the history of brutal oppression

that cause so many to live in fear.

Since if we can’t learn this lesson

we’ll lose more than an election!

Folks, it’s high time to reject

this notion that every hero warrants beatification!

Harken Ozymandias

With your every stride

Fallen leaves and memories

Fragment into mulch.

You think yourself bold,

Decisive man of action:

Midas of decay;

Modern day Nero:

Tweeting while Rome succumbs

To internal flames.

Survey these ashes

Stark remains of the fury

From your careless match.

Where Colossus stood

Only dust and rubble stir

In warm autumn breeze

And yet:

Despite your chaos,

Slender verdant tendrils grow

Rooting your ruins

Proving to you, Wretched Waste,

That even now, hope remains.

Charity or Wisdom

Listen Up, you grey old goat!

Your racist ways are history.

Does that hate not sere your throat?

That grossly overt bigotry

never fails to offend

younger,

compassionate,

thoughtful men.

But since we’re here within this lodge,

I’ll try to muster up some grace,

abide the precepts of wiser men

and curb my urge to pulp your face.

I’ll maintain regard unconditional

despite your beliefs, so unlovable.