Stolen Gifts

Heavy, wet, warm, suffocation settles

across the faceless mask of humanity,

Breathing in its desperate whisper of reality-

a sweat of bitter remembrance

Stale with the scent of metallic blood-

humankind waters the thorny and delicate roses

With a trail of tears that have fallen sanguine from the vulnerable

SOLDIERS: Boys. Girls. Mothers. Fathers. Brothers. Sisters. Sons. Daughters.

Staining the earth with the sin of Cain,

We mourn with the powerless dirt

in sorrow of inevitable destruction,

Knowing it will one day cover our eyes in indifferent equality,

When we will all die in glorified insanity,

And rest in an emptiness so large, we call it freedom.

Broken, unwanted spirits become storm clouds,

Their rage kicking up the dust

In a tumultuous windstorm.

Blinded by the debris, we try.

Try, sweet one, try as though you cannot fail.

For this life hardens even the softest hearts.

Once the shimmer of pebbles settle,

Watch your step;

We dance with clumsy feet that crush the brittle and broken

Skeletons that were left behind by clumsy men:

Men with fear. Men with hate. Men with greed. Men with guns.

When withering love becomes gaunt and crippled from neglect,

They fight to win a battle that cannot be won;

To be human means to be a mother of destruction;

And to be God means to forget all compassion.

Fire was a stolen gift we destroyed ourselves with.

This power was the evil behind the naive bullet

That fed the ravenous flame with naked flesh.

They blind out the light with crystal rain

In a night of broken glass and shattered dreams.

Stolen gifts never last.

The flammable ones are the first to burn,

Doused in their own forgiveness.

But try, sweet one, try though you know you will fail.

When they come for you at the Masada,

Be the last to jump,

And the first to fly.

This life leaves us all condemned;

For I have seen even the disease of love

Murder the hearts of many men. 

This poem is about: 
Our world

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