He’s a crusader
With deep convictions,
A man of integrity
Who can always
Be counted on to
Share some wise advice.
He prides himself
On being a person of
Honor and moderation,
Steadfast purveyor of
Only common-sense views,
Which is why he
Is fervently against
Income redistribution,
At least the kind
That helps the poor.
A different type of energy,
One that comes from distant
Wounds, inflicted by monsters
Who were supposed to protect
Them, confidence betrayed,
A never-healing sore oozing
Mistrust, anger, pain directed
At everyone, for any reason,
For no reason other than it
Has never been acknowledged
Or dealt with so it can go
Away, recede into memory,
Leaving in its place,
Softness, kindness, wholeness,
Compassion, understanding.
Nothing much going on,
Like every other day.
She remembers when life
Felt full of promise,
When she would wake up
And things mattered,
The excitement of
What was to come,
The joy in even the
Smallest occurrences,
Barely a memory now,
Replaced by a void.
One fine day,
Seemingly out of
Nowhere,
He came into town and,
With a few brief
Words, reminded people
Of what was really
Important in life,
And had every single
Person running home
To make amends or
Hug a loved one,
Help someone in need,
Their better nature
Confirmed.
The stranger vanished
As mysteriously as
He had appeared,
And the people
Went back to doing
What they had
Always done.
It’s clear that
All that is happening
In that predatory mind
Is a miserable plan
To curry favor,
Establish dominance.
The need to be loved,
While overlooking the
Unpleasant flaws of
Reality, paramount,
Only self-adulation
Featured on the menu.
Manipulating the limbs
Of cold mannequins,
Unfeeling eyes staring
Blankly, no connection
To actuality, only
Temporary gratification.
He knows exactly
Where they all are,
Ready to help him
When they show up,
He’s rehearsed it
Many times in his head,
A twitching crusader
For absolute order,
Pitifully unsafe in
The midst of all
His friends, the
Ones that don’t talk
Back, that make him
Feel more potent,
Briefly worthwhile,
Some kind of cowboy.
It is said that only twenty percent
Of people are able to change an
Undesirable behavior, even when
They experience severely negative or
Life-threatening consequences, and
Eighty percent will continue doing
The same thing until it consumes them,
Unable to change, emphatically
Assuring themselves that things are
Going much better than they are.
Right or wrong,
Good or bad,
Us or them,
Have or have not.
A world of
Stark dualities
Inevitably creating
Winners and losers.
Some notice that
Imagination is
Missing from this
Severe equation:
The ability to
Envision a world
Where everyone
Is able to win.
I can’t say that
I ever thought he’d
Be the same as me
But I must admit that
I never considered
The possibility that
He felt nothing inside,
An animated creature
That behaves only
According to its latest
Whim, whatever it desires
At that particular moment,
With no regard for
Anyone who might be
In the vicinity.
