“Fortune favors the brave.”
But I am not brave.
Too tired, aggrieved, for that world
I’d rather speak of far out
stars, shining possibilities
not likely to knock
upon my hovel door.
“The poor have always been among us.”
So long as we measure brother against brother
on a scale of credit and debt.
Who gets to order the jet?
Who gets to die,
ever more desperate to
cheat the street of bludgeon meat,
confined to a prison cell
or other faux hell?
A crow and carrion show,
so everyone will know
the wages of failure
to fit on some narrow queue.
Naught knight nor druid can avail
challenge cowardly effigy,
change how badly taught this sad course
How dissuade mad conspirers’ cynical sway?
How expose knavery,
encourage true bravery?
Reify kindness, heal blinding hate?
Sane solution hovers before bruised eyes. Useless,
lost in disguise, unless emotions connect, electrify.
A whole and energized people shine
far brighter than splintered, extracted light.