Midnight Poet Strikes Again - Inflamed
Taking it for years.
Inflamed. And blamed
for our own tears.
Is our proclivity
Toward sensitivity
A pain to avoid,
Or make you annoyed?
This trauma has cut up the asphalt
And put a halt
To the train
That kept the pain
On the other side of the track.
And you’ve got our back.
You say,
You think and you pray:
“I’m hearing your plight,
But my banner in sight,
Which was north of the border,
Returned our good order.
That spell has been broken
No words that I’ve spoken
Spew hate (as of late)
Isn’t that stuff
Enough?”
“And I never touched, or stroked, or knew.
Why march with the Mses. now whining ‘Me, too.’?
Should I always believe,
Or is she trying to deceive
with the story she’ll strongly implore?
Is she really asking for
More?!”
“And the rainbow was precious,
You stole for your flag.
Why should I honor the ‘choice’ of the fag?!
I’m just not convinced.
That argument’s minced.
And I’m not sure that I care,
Or have pity to spare.”
“And
“In a time where everyone else’s opinion counts -
But mine doesn’t measure half an ounce -
Let me announce
I’m ignoring the drone.
Leave me alone!
Nothing need enter my home of stone.
It’s too much to take,
If this is what it means
To be awake.
When hurt is kept quiet,
Then life is much cleaner.
It lessens the diet
Of painful demeanor.”
But if you’ve now faced
(without being debased)
What it means to taste
This crap and spew and hate and crud,
Please know that it’s one 86th of one bud.
But you’ve got pain too.
So this gets reversed.
Attempts to acknowledge the pain that came first.
With cursed opinions about to collide,
Let’s consider what’s truly denied:
The things that we don’t know, the hurt of the other,
The personal aches we wish we could smother,
Are in all of us.
Thus,
Comparing the pain, such a grave sin,
Futilely blocking the tales deep within.
There’s more to the story
Than the glory
of yellowed News
Which spews
A sepia picture,
With bichrome tincture,
And has the power
Every half hour
To lift the bridge and dig the moat,
Perhaps abridge and then connote
A meaning that pulls us apart
And ruins matters of the heart.
What if we could just emote
And promise that we would devote
Some effort to Let go control
And open wide to see the soul?
Affective, Directive, and mostly, Connective,
We’d tune into a cherished perspective.
What would we be?
What could we say?
if you're thinking it’s love,
Please try it today.
A little could go a very long way.
