But… What’s the Cure?!
But… how can we ever hope to cure the ones
Who choose to hate and rage…
Who follow blindly their puppeteers,
Memorizing each slanted page
Of lies and violent darkness
From which they learn but evil…
And thus are sown the rotting seeds,
The choice of willing weevils
For which there seems no cure.
Good men may try to compensate
And overlook their differences,
To meekly even propitiate…
And still… there seems no cure…
If one does not admit to being ill.
And thus… the split does widen
To depths that won’t be filled.
A note: one time in recent history
They eagerly did choose
To leave a nation united…
But they were bound to lose.
Their deficiencies demanded yet to overcome,
Their rage to never end
Fanned by illogic, jealousy, and ignorant fear…
Unending messages to send.
To those who wish to shake the hand
Which much prefers the gun
And hence I say: so be it…
Your choice is that of one
Refusing to learn what is simply true
And real and wise and caring,
Instead of being a low-down bully
Intent on hurtful bearing.
A preference for bitterness,
Hollow eyes which view all life
With limited ways ill-chosen,
Fostering backward fears and strife.
And so, you see… a cure is duly shunned
By those of cult-like ways,
Instead of living creatively,
Instilling value to each day.
And if they choose so willingly
To walk the lesser way…
Well then, I understand, dear puppets,
It is your choice then to play
This silly, senseless waste of time…
This foolishness to win or lose,
Intent on feeding divisiveness
By their useless game of Reds or Blues.
Life is a gift… for all to live…
Not a race declared as winner.
Better to sit down with friends
And share a well-cooked dinner.
It’s what you make with that given gift…
In truth and keen reality,
To live your life well-managed,
Most wisely and creatively.
It’s what you make of who you are…
And those perceptions you can choose.
Life is a deserved privilege…
Not a “race” to win or lose.
United, then, we may not be,
As I choose not to be your brother…
For you do strangle all that is good…
Your joy is but to smother.
To smother the world, the air we breathe,
Taking away the joy of life,
And if you wish to be free…
Then hunker down, on your own ground,
And let others be free
To choose what’s wise and true,