In a sudden moment of clarity,
She realizes that he never
Respected her.
In retrospect it seems so clear,
The constant belittling,
Snide remarks, manipulation.
A pervasive pattern of control
Passed off as caring,
Actions intended to subjugate.
She tells herself it can’t be true,
While knowing deep inside
It always has been.
Rugged individualism
Corrodes the bonds of society,
Which only thrives when
People work together
To build a greater whole,
Realizing that nothing
Happens without help
From others, that one’s
Life is richer because
Everyone agrees to
Participate sincerely.
Sadly, one cannot
Yearn one’s way into
Another’s heart,
Only skulk around
The margins hoping
Something will change,
Reading great promise
Into irrelevant events,
The object of one’s
Ardor unaware.
Every action directed at
Undermining vital institutions,
Weakening structures
That support the vulnerable,
Propelling a heartless agenda
Condemning the disadvantaged to
Perpetual suffering,
Feigning a smile while
Dismantling democracy,
The aristocracy ruthlessly
Asserts itself, yet again.
Unwavering fealty to
The group, the greater
Good left behind in
Favor of a narrow agenda
Benefiting only a few
At the highest end of
The scale, preferential
Treatment for those who
Already enjoy all the perks,
Long rows of identical
Drones marching in formation,
Obliterating everything
In their path to
Satisfy a pathological
Compulsion for power.
There’s a long pause
Followed by a few
Tentative attempts to
Get the conversation
Started, trying to scale
A wall erected by fear.
Devoid of knowledge and
Experience, they wobble
Down an unexplored path,
Each hesitant to take
Another step, a precipice
At every turn.
It ends before it begins,
Where it’s always been,
Laying dormant and untended,
The disease never treated,
Ignored as much as
Important things can be.
With preternaturally
Acute perception,
They discern vulnerability
And descend wantonly
Upon the distress,
Promising solace,
Delivering misery,
Sucking the life out of
Everything they touch.
Satiated, they move on
To the next victim.
Fabricating an elaborate
Fiction about how the
Very people they’re
Mistreating are somehow
The oppressors, a weak
Justification for their own
Reprehensible actions,
Constantly compensating,
Contriving comfort by
Projecting their own
Offenses on the objects of
Their despotism while
Claiming victimhood.
Every event was
The same: Stand there
And get talked at
For far too long,
Until his eyes glazed over,
All the while wishing
The purveyor of this
Deluge of unrequested,
Vapid, remarkably
Uninteresting information
Would notice his
Increasing agony.
