Loss and sorrow, though rightfully ours,
Are not ours alone, but a mantle
Misappropriated, as if grief, our grief,
Is more deep and fraught
Than other life, active and static
Acknowledged or never recognized.
While the murky water we swim within
May be mere inches deep.
Our quest for meaning
Pours forth in minor chords,
Dark and dangerous images,
Fell words in prose and verse, by which
We build crypts within our heart.
We stuff our fists into our mouths
To stifle the screams
Which proclaim our incomprehension.
So, for all the wonder, beauty and power
Found in art, music and words,
In any expression of our ignorance;
The tears of our need, our fear,
Shed or stifled to pretend our greatness.
Mourners, we hire to walk before our hearse
And the vast skyscrapers we build,
Promising ourselves they will never collapse.
We know we lie, that they will crumble
Into ruins. As will our lives, in time.
We try to escape in fast cars, drink and drugs.
Gambling, speculation, to our own detriment,
Meaningless sex, useless wealth.
Which we choose to believe, if only a moment,
Make us more powerful than death,
Our constant companion, mutual friend.
Peace is Purpose, Nonviolence is Strength, Diversity is Unity, Empathy is Empowerment
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The Pen’s Might
Brent Harris Fine Art
Philip Brent Digital Art
The Extra Mile
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