a poem is a sermon
You cannot heal a thing by using hate.
That salve infects a wound and makes it burn,
then die and rot. Then it is far too late
to blame the medicine you chose to take
for giving you results you didn’t see.
There’s no returning from such a mistake,
no happiness can bloom from enmity.
What is the Truth, that we spend all our days, from birth to death, imagining so fair that we invent, seek to avoid or praise some vain ideal constructed from thin air, that as illusion is beyond compare; it casts religions merely to take form that neither breathes nor catches fire to warm. What is […]
If you would comprehend the world at all, imagine this: a place so pure and wild it knows just spring, not summer yet, or fall. Like a capricious, spoiled and errant child it knows not between sacred and defiled, but treats all things with equal joy and lust until their centers start to rust. Once […]
There is no good in a war of revenge, which at best requires its combatants cold while for its public approval depends upon hot blood if it is to be sold (and hue and cry, if the plain truth be told, is of no use when seeking for amends; it only serves one’s foes and […]
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