Hawkeye

See everything and nothing is clear
Nothing like all the lies that appear
Brighter and higher than the stories could share
Somehow never caring that life was not fair

Chickens and onions supposed their place
Was somewhere else aside from your mental plate
Devouring and consuming all the sunlight
Like an eclipse of friendship before the fight

Bodies and blood to swim around
Screaming so loud there were no sounds
A betrayal purple tinged vision imprint to the eyes
Nothing left but horror filled cries

And the memories splash beneath the waves
Of bourbon and gin because no one else saves
The thoughts away although the urge to touch was there
These cursed palms were not meant to give a care

Kiss me foolishness and tuck away the sun
The demons descend as the world comes undone
Grasping and laughing, cackling maniacal
The faces of the dead never seem recognizable

In the end, just as in the beginning
The sickle arches down as the people keep singing
The face of God turns from right to left
From gold to dust a silence bereft

A messiah a savior anything to rescue from darkness
A star spilling over Midland a contrast in starkness
Allow the sheep to be lead to the slaughter
Marry off the devil to the precious king’s daughter

And somewhere above the lord of fate
Chortles to see all the lives left at stake
Madness consuming revenge aspired
Nothing like pain and anger to alight a world on fire

Sing to my ravenous soul a beat of thirst
Clinch this mortal coil to deliver the hearse
Nothing less than this swath of murder and pillage
Wolf of dragons consume this village

The world will never be his will never be mine
Losing our way chasing shadows through pine
A circular pursuit of predators pretending to pray
While some are born to die others are born to slay

Nothing more than ashes and salt across the earth
A subtle glance underlying at all that are cursed
Auction off systems with all the grief and pain
Auction my madness so I can pretend to be sane

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Persona Non

When I stepped into the shadows
Father was there to greet me
Not with a hug or smile
But with the stern unquestionable command.

So I went, programmed as ever to
Follow, never given the option to
Lead, even when the madness took
Him, he puppet-ed me behind the ink stained mask

In ways familiar, the broad back
Hiding scars belying his apparent
Invincibility. He’s with the League
Now and I’m just his errand boy.

At the end, with barely any words
He sank back on his throne,
Leaving me with the turmoil, the
Bruises and laced disgust at my acquiescence.

He’s replaced me several times,
I – in a pique – struck out at the
Confinement. Something about respect
And caged spring birds, I abandoned

The folly of red, canary yellow and
Emerald, donning black and blue
In mockery of him, so that my
Skin would blend into the night.

It was foolish of me to expect
The sun, arching through the air
With glitter and lights, vaguely
The memory of my Dad sparkles.

But there is no room here for glistening
Trifles, and he is not my Father
He has a true son now, the final in
A line of sealed coffins that could

Not contain the burgeoning curiosity
That took the others away before they’d
Gotten mid-way to thirty-five.
He didn’t know how to raise us,

But he always knew how to bury us.
That impenetrable man,
I scoff at my weakness, then,
As a child, meeting him for the

First time, clutching the shreds of day-
Old grief, I thought he would embrace,
But his stern face abandoned such
Wishes. Nothing touched him and

Like a fool, I wanted to be him;
Willingly diving into the black,
Consuming every word as gospel
Racing into his shadow.

And now it stifles me, that
Cape overhead that blanketed the
City, sucking away independent
Will for I would never be anything

But Father’s tool, so I left
Him sitting on his shadowed
Throne, departing the city of my
Fathers and yet still I cannot

Escape; they call me, those
Followers, who never see the
Darkness of his eyes
And the eternity of his grasp.


Written persona poem of Nightwing, a DC character.

#1: Fill It

The box swallows the edges with
Its own. There it squats on my
Neighbor’s porch. Why did you not
Arrive to mine? Shove away nuisance
And heft the weight. For what is within
Is mine, I placed the items inside
And then it was forgotten.
I dust off the smoky layer and
Fetch sharp knives, one to open and
The other to die. Here at last the
Awakening cometh, tendrils creeping
Forth, fogging my sight, come now
And behold.

These six sides never left me
Forsaken by others, it never abandoned me
To the sanctity of all my musings, I seized
The lid and lift, as it once lifted me
Filled with sodden memories, sagging beneath
The weight of my brevity, structural
Integrity compromised by my own hands
Save yourself, fisherman, and cast a line
Tell me the words to say and absolve
Me of this barren time.

At that moment, they come to crowd me
I carry the first and lay it inside
On the altar of sacrifice, I hand over
Greed and lust, I bury love and
Pieces of what I know to be vital
Sensitivity and touch were wrapped up
In blazing rage, crinkling tissue wrappings
Shredded on blades of stolid blank.

The shroud of piety soon fluttered
Down into its depths, followed by hate
A millstone of guilt and buckets of shame
Heavy the weight of confession and salvation
Snuffing out intention and goodwill.
The lid barely fits now, and the blood that
Melts the seal stamped on its face
Scream beware. I clasp the heartstrings and
Knot them around the sides, confine the
Aspiration of longing inside.

Finally closed, unable to hold
I peel the label
Affix to the top
RETURN TO SENDER.

Am I Invisible or Do You Just Not Care?

Tell me the lie
Tell me you care
Tell me that you pay attention

Give me this time
This space, this lie
Because it holds me better than the truth

You don’t care
So I don’t care

It was my eyes that I blame
For opening and viewing your frame
In the window of just-out-of-reach
Air tinged with your latent speech
Of how life was a test, and we were all failing
That suffering was expected, and God was tailing
To see the pain and anguish of his hands
Molding our fucked-up time in the hourglass sands.

I knew it was too good to be true
When just out of the blue, you looked back and saw me too
And you beckoned me over
Was I drunk? Or was I sober?
Did you really just point at me
Was I -finally- seen as someone to be?
I craved, in a solemn moment, to be there
Free from damage and care
To just laugh and scream and dance and sing
Like a person instead of a broken ring.

Stepping forward, I noticed your eyes
Looking past me, I looked back at a different barfly
Sinking, I realize it wasn’t me, it was never me
Because I just wasn’t here, so now I will flee
No.
Why should I go?
Unwanted before, where else will I be
But right here, haunted by memories of thee.

Cigarettes

Is it true
That when the wind kicks up dust
And stirrups creak beneath
The arching sun
The well-worn handles
Of careful guns
Glitter with intention
At high noon?

Above the vultures
Dip their ink into the sky
Casting winged shadows
On the dirt strewn
Tumbleweeds

And yet, within this bar
Saloon, swinging double
Doors, clanking piano cords
Bang a cheery grating tune
Dirty glasses behind the bar
Bottles filled with hopes and courage
Worn surface embracing elbows
Cradling weary arms

Sinuous tendrils curl
Above, where the women
Of the night decadently array
A smile is a smile, shine in
Cleft breasts pressed warmly
To a chill of loneliness
Branded beneath the skin

Cards shuffle restlessly
Sharp eyes and trigger fingers
Fan their fortune
Within calloused palms
Temper and temperance
Arrayed to play
A game as old
As death

Gray eyes
The scent of ash
Clash to align with
Golden hawk-eyed stare
Fair and bronzed
Dark and raven-haired
Bowed heads joined
To light their mutual
Cigarettes

Swan-necks bending
Connecting
In the bizarre form
Where the kiss of flame
Licks from one tip
To the other.

Today Then, Tomorrow

On days like today, I can feel the moment poise like a knife balanced on wire, like the ballet dancer en point, like the gymnast threading the needle.

Effortless, efficient, balance.

Days like today used to be fraught with nervous strumming, a fervent bass vibration in the pit of my stomach. The kind only a lick of pain, a soft alcoholic phrase could kill. The kind that made be hold my breath, heart thudding desperately in my ears, as I promised to never exhale or inhale-

Poised on knife point.

But today is different. It is gentle, graceful, beautiful, loving. A caress of something entrancing, gossamer, tantalizing.

The soft shapely thigh of a lover curved around the lower back.

If I kissed it, it would taste of sunshine and apples; bubbles popping in my nose, gentle raindrops on my head, a gust of wind from the sea. If I held it, it would be fire and flame, petals and vain, laughing so hard I can feel the vibration through floating ribs and on through to my fingertips…

I’m singing, and that never happens anymore.

Cruella Deville. Cruella Deville. If she doesn’t scare you~

So cruel, so cruel, my little devil, you jerk me around and call it play~
Come tell me something to make me want to… stay~

Waiting for the kill…

Poised like a predator awaiting prey. A praying mantis; patient, silent, and cunning-

Poised.

And the violin string holds the note -And the violin string holds the note

And the violin string holds the fucking note-!

Threading a needle through my veins, ready to launch baby, take me into your arms and throw me up to the heavens so that I may embrace the wonder of the universe. Cradled in the clouds, where there are no houses.

No houses,
no houses,
no houses.

Balanced delicately on the edge, a sliver away from split skin and ravaged bone. Draped now in silks and rapid anticipation.

I am poised on the edge of a terrific tomorrow. And it’s name is Terror.

Saturday #1

Last week, I swore I would get out of my fucking house and meet some people. For god’s sake, I was merging with my couch!

Which led to yesterday. Yesterday was Poetry Workshop day

Poetry Workshop Day

What better way to know if I am actually good at poetry or not? I asked myself, clicking the RSVP link and adding the event to my calendar.

I woke up bright and early that morning, rolled out of bed, showered and dressed. I chose the hyperlink blue top, black tights, and black & gray sorrel pdx wedges. Why I’m so enraptured by these clothes, I don’t know…

I got into my car and set on the audio-book to play, using GPS to navigate me to the nearby city. Remembering I needed to stop at the bank, I found my way winding through the metropolitan area, sprinkled with areas of construction along the main highway. I soon reached my exit and began winding up and down streets lined with shops, laundry mats, ethnic shops, restaurants, drugstores, and lottery booths.

It reminded me a bit of downtown Birmingham, AL, when I’d visited almost 3 years ago now… The same hip vibe, ethnic people, eclectic shops.

They must have a bunch of coffee shops here, I thought to myself.

When I arrived at my destination, I ran into a familiar problem, where to park. After circling the nearby blocks, I found a spot, small and tight, between a BMW and a Jeep. There I went, squeezing in my Honda Civic with a prayer on my lips, and my foot mashed on the brake. Thank god I knew how to parallel park (practice practice practice). After much reversing and care, I incrementally fit my small car into the space without tapping the neighboring cars.

I’m 18 minutes late.

I locked the doors, grabbed my backpack, and struck off down the sidewalk, counting down to the building number -201- then took the stairs to the second floor. I was pointed down a long hallway, to the last door on the left, where the meetup was held.

I opened the door.

And the vibe was warm, the auras were welcoming, and I didn’t feel uncomfortable.

I will come back, I thought, even before I’d sat down.

I was introduced to everyone, and I was Cole, nice to meet you. It felt like a comfortable cloak I’d never removed. I was Cole again.

Actually, I don’t think I’d stopped being Cole. Cole was always there, I realized as I grabbed a seat at the table. I am Cole.

I’m always Cole. No matter what they call me.

We responded to three writing prompts, taking ten minutes to write, then having the option to share what we read. I shared my poems each time.

I’ll share them here, with you…

____________________________________

Prompt: Break a rule – write about something we are told not to write about (i.e. fatherhood and death by cancer).

I stood there, in trepidation and silence,
A sorrow, stale and worn;
I could not seem to grasp the sounds.
They stood in white before me,
A flock of heartless birds to steal my soul away
With a word, a look, a halfhearted turn-of-phrase.

Wringing out, the eeking keen of disbelief tinged the air green,
A sickly soft syrup slushed through my veins;
I cannot even gesture acquiescence or rejection.
Captured, sliced, and mute.

The room I awake in is white
– Fuck the white.
I HATE the white that had woven the lies that sowed
Hope in my heart.
Why was there no black?

Spiraling down, I land on my knees
In the gravel driveway;
Choking, heaving, listing,
Clutching the last memory that
Slowly sifted away into sand.

Dirt trickles from my frozen fingers,
I find no comfort in the cloying scent
Of jasmines and sunflowers adorning
The gaping hole where my heart lies.
There is nothing I wouldn’t do
To destroy the world, to erase the limits of time,
To turn back those harsh and unsympathetic hands.
To return to her loving arms
Riddled with central lines, pumping
Poison into collapsing veins,
Destroying the smile on her lips.
The shattered glass of her eyes
When she asked when daddy would take her home.
Would he come now? She had been
So good, right mommy?

And I stared at the dirt mounded,
Covering my shame and guilt;
Laying down beside her, I finally —
Break.

Daddy is home.

____________________________________

I felt so wrung after reading. The silence in the room made me shy and embarrassed. The complements thereafter were warm. Slightly uncomfortable, I accepted the complements with a smile and thanks in the way I had been taught to do.

Would it kill you to accept a fucking complement, Cole?

The next prompt was tougher, harder for me to write. I started two different sets, thoughts akimbo, until in the last 5 minutes I realized what I was afraid of writing the most.

I didn’t want to write about W.

____________________________________

Prompt: Write about what you are afraid to write about

What he did
Was cruel.
I never understood
How a smile could hide
Such a devious mind.

Destroying more that year
Than I knew to be precious.
The truth is,
The cracks within,
Were my own.

The words were never there,
The emotion obliterated.
The past continues to return,
A demon never exorcised.
He planted the seeds,

And I can’t seem to halt the growth.

____________________________________

A muffled silence. I felt raw, thoughts racing. I realized, in hindsight, that the words sounded like the words one would write about an ex.

There were no words to explain I was writing not about an old flame, but an older, pathetic man who once called himself my boss. Ascribing words of another time into the present, where I finally had words to define and describe that which had been sealed behind my lips for so long.

On the page, I looked down on the words, written with anger, large and angular. Cross-outs throughout the page, blots scribbled out angrily. I could feel that anger now, in the silence. I realized my emotion caused me to read the words too fast, out of pace for absorbing the words by the listener…

I took deep breaths. This was turning into a spot of therapy…

After a 15 minute break, the last prompt was more… thoughtful. Approaching another, less harmful memory, I went back to childhood.

____________________________________

Prompt: Address an Entity in Rebellion

Hello. I wonder if you remember me
Please sit down, sir, you’ve spoken quite enough.
Let the oxygen in,
Let us breath for a damn minute
Before you drown us in pontification.
Opinion and bluster to erase
Every independent thought, as you spoke
With the arrogance of the morning star.

Did you ever stop to think about
The impact of your words?
Or were you so drunk on power
– Inebriated by greed and jealousy –
That you couldn’t spare a single thought for your victims?

The innocent wide brown eyes,
Disregarded by prying words.
Crowbars clattering against the locks.
Did you see me standing there?
Watching your desperation and triumphal
Entry? No, for all that you could see
Were earthly treasures.

Stacks of green paper mark you
A liar, sir, for heaven was not
To be found in the darkened
Maw of the safe.

Machinations, silver tongued
And multilingual, I watched you
Sway the multitude like
Wheat bowing to the wind
Waves of majesty before you
Could you see me standing there?

When the votes were tallied
Thy will, not my will, be done
In church as it may never be done
Above. The steeple mocked
Us all.

In the shadow of the cross
Judas put forth his hand for
Coin.
Did you know, sir, that the
Value of all you covet that day
Was not even worth fifteen cents?

Did you see me standing there
Watching you froth at the lips
The only words chanting from your lips
“Where is the money?”

____________________________________

I dropped my book with a thud of finality. Again, silence.

“This actually happened,” I said, shying from looking anyone in the eye, bouncing my eyeballs at the empty spaces just beyond eye level.

“I’m sorry,” my neighbor said softly.

“It’s okay,” I said. “I was just a kid.”

I don’t know why I said that. I felt stupid for saying that.

The members shared what they wrote as they had done for each prompt. I closed my eyes to listen, grounding in the moment away from my turbulent thoughts to focus on their spoken words in the moment.

Stay in the moment, Cole.

Talent was in that room. I know it. Beauty woven in those words, I felt the peace descend. I was where I was supposed to be.

At the end, as I packed up and headed out the door, a member said, “I liked what you wrote.”

“Thank you.” I smiled into his eyes. “I liked your poems too, you have a beautiful sense of humor.”

We smiled at each other, and I continued out the doorway

Put the Pieces Back Together

I sat in my car. I just wanted… a break.

I felt flimsy, like a stiff breeze would blow me away and I’d cease to exist.

Wiggling out of the parking spot I’d wedged into, I pulled away into traffic, GPS charted for the 2nd Coffee shop I’d found almost 2 months ago that I hadn’t yet visited. I left the city and entered the suburbs, winding down more familiar roads until I arrived at the Maywood Pancake House.

Again, parking was hard to find. I ended up far away, but the sunshine was beautiful on my face, the air fresh and clean, I strutted up the sidewalk with a smile and entered in through the door into a

Bustling

Busy

Restaurant.

Mouth agape, I looked around in amazement. Did they actually serve vegan food here? And this many people came to eat?

“Sorry for the wait, how many?” the hostess asked, pulling me from my blatant staring.

“One,” I replied.

“Would you like to sit in the booth or at the counter?” She asked. I followed her gesture at the booth parked in the far corner. It looked dark and claustrophobic. The counter was open, well lit and inviting.

“The counter please.”

“This way.”

I followed her to the counter facing the coffee machines, the presses, and the sorcery where baristas flitted like busy bees, assembling all kinds of breakfast beverages. The hostess placed a menu and a napkin wrapped fork and knife on the table in front of the last chair at the end of the counter. “Here okay?”

“That’s fine.” I smiled reflexively.

She smiled in return, and left me to awkwardly perch on the chair, wiggling out of my coat and backpack which I stubbornly refused to leave behind in the car. I put the coat over the back of my stool, and perched the backpack under the counter lip to rest on the brass foot railing my legs couldn’t reach. I hooked my heels over the stool rungs and opened the menu.

“Hi, can I get you anything?”

I looked up at the waiter, whose words were spoken in an accent that reminded me of western Europe. Was it Russian? No, maybe Polish? Czech? It was lovely, all the same.

“Mmm,” I scanned the menu, “can I get a glass of soy milk?”

“A glass of soy milk?” I nodded. “Coming right up.”

He grabbed a glass and a straw, poured the milk up to the rim, and set the glass down before me without spilling a drop. I was impressed.

“Thanks!” I said, then sucked it down, surprising myself with my thirst.

I eventually ordered vegan pancakes -duh, right? -with chocolate chips and coconut shavings on top. I wondered if they served chai tea, but didn’t see it on the menu. Oh well…

As I waited for the food, I wrote in my notebook:

Such an onslaught of emotion. Both tired and shell-shocked, I await my vegan pancakes w/chocolate chips and coconut atop.

Emotionally wrung dry… I feel weary with eyelids heavy w/ sleep. Suddenly exhausted. The hot air balloon collapses upon itself and my facade is no more.

Weary, almost fragile. At the counter I alternate between writing and glancing at the cc of the TV spewing news reports. I can’t keep up. I remember why I hate the news.

After 4 pancakes and 2 milk glasses, I feel finally human. Shell intact.

I wonder what to do next. It’s only 2:30ish, perhaps travel to B&N? No… somewhere peaceful and quiet.

Or, maybe, just drive…

I wanted to ask Leo, my waiter, where his accent was from, but the opportunity did not arise.

Stuffed and craving a spot of exercise – shocking, I know – I decided walking was next on the menu. But not outside… inside would be preferable -ah-hah! The mall!

Parking again was illusive. I circled for 15 minutes with fellow cars, wheeling circles like birds of prey in the sky. I finally found a spot at the Target parking lot.

I walked for over an hour before my feet screamed their exhaustion. I turned my car home.

Thus ended my day..

My Muse

I’m humming a tune that I can finally remember. I write it down. The words float to me easily, the melody plays in my ears, I am immersed in the sound of beauty. A few tweaks and I’m onto a masterpiece.

The ideas come freely, I am a-gaggle and a-goggle with giddy delight. I laugh and smile, a little less hollow now. I’m wrapped in words and the plot rolls before me like a river to chart my course to the path I had struggled to achieve and yet never quite approached.

I am watching romance films and I don’t know why but I find them charming rather than nauseating.

It’s like the bubbling in my chest, the joy of life, the crisp of autumn, all combine to make me alive. I want to be alive again, and my fingers and heart and soul are dancing a melody of something genuine and new, something unfolding from inside like a sheltered flower that finally bloomed.

This didn’t happen before and I don’t know what it means now that it is.

I just am.

I exist and for once, that’s okay.

Are you the one who unlocked my creative side? The side so still and cold I thought it maybe had died from neglect or… sadness.

With all this, I am feeling again, and that means that pain is on the way. Time to slaughter and slay and to forget all my names.

And yet I cradle it close, like a long lost lover. Captivated by it’s light and beauty. I am subdued by its power and it rules me. For a time, for a season. Will it fade away and leave me again with the gray?

Is this a love? Or is this pain disguised as pleasure?

When will you hurt me. Again.

Metal and edge, the beauty of a katana is not just in how it gleams in the light. But in its slash and cape of blood. Likewise, something this beautiful starts with joy and cuts to the quick in a sharp and incisive way. Needlepoint my heart. Cover my eyes, and make me love again.

It hurts, it’s love, it hurts.

It’s love.

It hurts.

It is raw and untethered, like grated nerves stretched for piano wire.

It cuts yet the sound is piercing.

The Silence Burns

How much I’ve trapped within these eyes? Like a mute I struggle to place the words to my lips, and pen to paper.

How do I talk about what happened -What is happening? Is it something I should just lock away?

How do I describe what that time did to me, how I am still struggling to collect the glass shards shredding my fingertips burnt with glue holding this fractured window in place? How do I speak of those moments that I want to forget and yet cannot erase.

This mute agony excavating my veins. Screams in my pores, and yet all is placid and still above while I drown and thrash and convulse in the grasp of a predator from yesterday who still visits me. Easing through my gates, slipping past the bars to taunt me and haunt me and laugh at who I am now.

It’s like you’re saying you’ve won.

But it isn’t you who torments me. It’s my emotion memory. How I felt, not what you did. Echoes of imprinted terror and anger, pain and fire sing through taunt frayed nerve endings.

I shake with rage, shudder in anguish, and wrap this cashmere shawl around me and tell myself it is over. But my mind just doesn’t believe, my body remains on edge, it lives in me and I in it.

We are in recovery but still live the trauma.

And we go on, in silence.

I. Won’t. Fall. Quietly. Into. The. Dark.

Blindly into the night- Fists to the sky, I am free and speech is my birthright… I rise- I move and have feeling- These scars remind me that I am a champion- A survivor- No one can own me-

I wear the crown. And yet these stitches in my mouth…

I suffer and I don’t know why.

And yet I suffer, again, in silence.


picture source

Mockery of the Angels

You said you were ready
But had no idea what you were in for
You thought the law would protect you
But lacked the imagination of a criminal.

You thought hiding behind laws
And walls would be enough to save you
Yet, those were only needed to enslave you
Words written down to betray you
Nothing more than broken promises
Made by an unfaithful lover.

You thought that speaking a truth
Would drown all the lies
Naive child, don’t you know
Last one standing writes the historic byline?

The dead tell no tales
The martyrs never write their own creeds
The ones burned at the stake
Never write their own obituaries
So what was your plan of succession?
When naught but assassins surrounded you?

Every ally becomes your enemy
Every stone wall projectiles for condemnation
Every brick of evidence open to suggestion
A fabrication of interpretation.

Did you really think that the media would save you
That they would snap up your words and relay accuracy?
Did you forget that these vultures
Only chase the freshest meat?
And yet the same words of love in the morning
Turn to accusation by mid-afternoon, and death penalty by nightfall.

Did you really trust that your comrades
Would guard your back from the wolves?
Did you not suspect that they
Would follow to each their own?

We only canonize the dead
When we are told to, we laud
And praise genius when it is laid to rest
We embrace and celebrate when the tombstone is placed
We remember the soldiers only when they’ve fallen
And the innocents by piling skulls in Valentine’s square.

Are you a child or are you grown?
Are you asleep or have you woke?
Do you really know this world you are in
Or do you cling to your myopic view of the world?

WAKE THE FUCK UP!!!
You are left wide open
To a bullet, a bomb, a word of slandar
No one will put their life on the line to save yours
Everyone will fail you
Your superman will die.

This world is rotten
The system dismantled through systemic, systematic chisels
The truth is just a perception
Your indignation, a fanciful dream.

There is NO justice!
Stop chasing a dream
The powerful always win, the money trumps the law
Truth is free, what is freely given is never treasured
Blood stains deeper than innocence
Ignorance is bliss.

So take off those fucking rosy glasses
And see the hell where you live
It’s deep inside your home
It’s buried within your heart.

Pull back the curtain
And see the reality of it all
Your sword is broken, your pen out of ink
All the world has begun to sink
We’re digging to hell, baby, and no one’s gonna stop us
We breed in this filth and LIKE IT.

So stay lily white
And we will decorate your skin with black handprints of soot
And speckles of blood
Weigh the scales of justice with your heart in one, and the sword in the other.

You tell me which one sinks the scale
Does a feather still equalize or does it only
Break the camel’s cigarette spine?
We like to be broken, you won’t sustain us
We’ll take you down, you’ll be one of us
For we are all dead men…

Poem inspired by the manga -Revival Man ch 36-40 -written by Jae Yong Taek, artist Kim Jae-han

Picture source