How deceitful the promises of hateful minds
dealt out in uniform measure:
One for indifference.
Two for blind exercises of power.
Three for broken will and spirit.
And so on, sharper and sharper as each
piece resonates against the dominance,
grips our ideals in its tightening prison.
. . . from the heavy ground, the sound
crashing out of your oceanic fear, it once
coalesced around something powerful,
formed its droplets that fall now . . .
Release that counter-malice into the winds
of memory where all true power lies:
not in limbs or muscularity,
not in gnashing or thrusting,
but in who you love and hear you cry,
who lift you even now to say “enough”.
Copyright 2012 by Michael Marsters.
All rights reserved.