She nonchalantly
Repeats the word:
Thugs.
It reverberates
With visceral
Effectiveness.
Countless minds
Racing to
Ruthless judgment.
The relentless
Tyranny of
Loaded language.
You’ll find it
At the top of the hill,
In that house no one
Lives in anymore,
Where that one family
Nobody talks about
Endured all those
Unmentionable things,
Collective loss of
Memory, the weight of
What we actually are.
They are entrusted
With the responsibility
Of governing, moving
The country forward.
They commence their
Solemn duty with the
Only thing that makes
Any sense to them:
Steeply boosting funding for
Waging war and drastically
Cutting programs that
Help the poor.
A ragtag group of
People unhappy with
Where the country is going
Assemble to voice
Their anger at a
System that has
Let them down.
Waving flags,
Chanting slogans,
United in their vitriol,
They rail against
The people who aren’t
Making their lives
More difficult.
In a Swiss bank account
A tidy fortune slumbers,
Carefully tucked in
By one of the few
Who betrays the trust
Of the many, turning them
Against their only allies.
Since she was
A little girl,
She’s been told
That this is
What she should
Behave like,
And this is what
She should look like,
And this is whom
She should marry,
And this is what
She should wear,
And that this
Is her lot in life.
As soon as
She possibly can,
She leaves it all
Behind for the joy of
Self-determination and
The freedom to celebrate
Who she really is and
Follow her own rules.
He can choose
Any path really,
His wealth allows him
To pretty much do
Whatever he wants,
Whenever he wants,
In any way
He wishes to.
It’s not so hard
To make someone
Else’s life a
Little easier,
More rewarding,
Worthwhile,
Empires can be built
With kindness,
Sharing doesn’t have
To be an expletive.
He elects to
Pay low wages.
Beat mercilessly
As a child,
Belittled,
Minimized,
Robbed of any sense
Of self-love,
He gravitates toward
Others with
Similar wounds.
They form a
Movement of
Violent hatred,
Subjugating other
Human beings,
Killing undesirables,
Craving the fleeting
Feeling of power,
Never satisfied.
A cult psychosis,
Collective hypnosis,
Fabricating a false
History, distorting
The truth, exorcising
Personal demons by
Trying to take over
The world instead of
Healing themselves.
This part of town
Isn’t the same as
It used to be,
Gradually life has
Supplanted decay,
Introducing a new
Vibrancy and energy
Where once only
Shadows existed,
Though one can’t help
Wonder what happened
To the people who
Used to live around here.
A fragile blue sphere
Drifting in an endless
Field of stars,
Not a single
Nation discernible,
No one person
More important
Than another,
Petty squabbles
Rendered insignificant.
Each of us an
Improbable,
Precious passenger
Navigating the
Vastness of space.
