It is the hard-edged tool,
roughened instrument,
object of hatred,
desire,
manipulation.
What some have,
others do not
and cannot attain.
What some think they possess,
others truly master.
It is legend,
it is ruin,
it is ugly,
it is beauty.
It is dominion,
yet offers leavings of vulnerability
to the unlucky.
"Control"--how many have it?
"Control"--how many worship it?
"Control"--how many abuse it?
"Control"--how many pursue it?
It is our malady,
our persistent truth.
It is our downfall
yet our unfailing passion.
It is stolen and purchased
It is stolen and purchased
with stained fingers
and stained souls.
Strength is revered,
tenderness reviled,
and the blind unendingly lead the blind.
The broken song of the innocents play on.
No comments:
Post a Comment