As she discovered
Over many years of
Resisting change,
There isn’t much
You can do about it,
If anything at all,
It just happens and
You have to deal with it
As you see fit,
Which determines
How your life transpires.
Eventually coming around,
Kicking and screaming,
As they always do
When confronted with
Anything different.
Consistently on the
Wrong side of history,
They resist as long as
Possible, propping up
A crumbling dam.
Glazed-over eyes,
Brows tightly furrowed,
Obligatory last stands,
The stream flows
In spite of them.
It was the saddest thing to see
Her go. Consumed by rancor and
Antipathy, disfigured by forces she
Couldn’t resist, tempted by promises
Of power, control, safety, dominance,
A return to panacea, a premised land.
Writhing uncontrollably, harsh voice
Feigning certainty, hands clenched,
Eyes staring blindly, ferociously.
The fire of abandoned reason, inability
To acknowledge reality unretouched,
Capitulation to fear complete.
An affable man was asked whether
He was a writer. He replied emphatically
That he was most definitely not a writer but
More of a reporter. He walked away to
Continue chronicling the vicissitudes of life,
Seen through a lens of superficiality and
Constriction. He made only one exception:
When his words could help damage the
Vulnerable, otherwise, just casual
Accounts about nothing of consequence.
So brutally hurt inside
That the only way
He feels anything is
When he vanquishes
A foe, real or
Imagined,
Domination trying to
Stand in for love.
He’ll tell you he’s
Just fine,
Strong,
But even those who
Cover for him know
He’s not.
Snatching a seat at the imposing
Exotic wood table,
Bloviating obliviously at the
Assembled underlings
Effusively and expeditiously
Commending every assertion and
Irrational pronouncement
Encased in exclusionary,
Unintelligible claptrap.
A miasma of incontinent adulation,
Widgets and metrics lain upon
The altar of vacuous selfdom.
Expending an inordinate,
Excruciating amount of
Effort, he was able to
Mistrust and vilify people
Whose sole trespass was to
Live compassionately,
Peacefully, harmoniously.
The gall of these
Interlopers, vying for
Turf, position,
Raze relations, raise a
Wall of concrete reinforced.
Clean up on the outside.
Some look forward,
Others retract.
Musing wistfully about
An eroding golden era,
The stark contrast
Between the idyllic
Charm of the past and
A present gone awry.
It wasn’t always this way,
He explains sorrowfully,
There was a time when
People knew their station,
And everything was
More orderly.
An aging revisionist,
Hanging on to dreams
Of a place that never
Existed except in
His sheltered mind,
Unaware, subjective.
A particular moment,
A decision made to
Move in a direction
Resisted until now.
An imperceptible shift,
Change of course,
Unrestrained, unfettered,
Unemotional, unopen.
Each action builds the moat,
A long swim in an industrially
Tainted pool left for dead,
Lasting an eternity.
