Preliminary Expectoration
First Draft composed July 2021; picked back up for honing in the past week here.
“Bind us to our bitter lives—
Or bury us in hope.”—Anon., “An Appeal”
Good God! Is there now nothing which remains
To rouse our passions in us uninfected
By some madding faction’s fatal call?
These politics exhaust all with their noise:
Such braying, trumpeting, and hammering
Of plowshares into sickles—
Crosses into swastikas—no symbol stable,
All must be transformed
(And at a moment’s notice) when it gains
Some slight advantage for the day or hour.
My heart screams for silence, but be still…
True passion, goodness, joy, integrity,
Love and homely virtues shy away
From public proclamation, trending posts,
Executive or legislative ‘action.’
Life is small as we who live it are
And needs no affirmation from the crowd—
Nor from elites.
Nor poets…
It’s starting to feel heated in here, no? Why not spread the suffering and