Trophies

Every day there is a new addition
Another blank spot filled
Every day another addition
To the wall of trophies.

There is one of every race
One of every color
There is a category for every gender
Every age
Every rate.

Every day
So many trophies

And the angel looks at the trophies
And weeps.
With abject sorrow and pain
As the shelves only multiply
And continue to fill

A wall drips down
And the tears fall down
The shelves climb high to the sky
A torrent of tragedy.

Did you know that trophies
Are something that serial killers
Take to remind themselves
Of the moments.

Trophies.

So which killer is this?
With shelves to the sky
Filled with trophies of every color
Race,
Age,
Rate?

This killer is silence.

This killer is hate.

This killer is rape.

This killer is ignorance.

This killer Is Evil.

This killer lives among us
In our silence
And our ignorance
And disbelief.

And until the silence is broken
And love returns
And rape is abolished in word and deed
Until ignorance is washed in wisdom and creed
We will continue to be nothing
But trophies.

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Cruelty

It’s in all of us.

A retrovirus, we are all infected by it. It lingers, festers, blossoms. No angel is immune.

I hate it. I HATE IT!

Cruelty is learned, passed on from generation to generation. Some imprint it into the bones of their offspring, others pour poison into their ears, and tattoo it into their souls. A single encounter taints for eternity.

Fatal contact.

And yet, unescapable.

There seems to be, no complete or global cure.

I can’t be a Father

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Year 0

“Mr. Stanner? Mr. Stanner?”

What on earth do they expect me to do? The swaddled bundle approaches swiftly in the nurse’s arms. A squalling sigh emanates and I suppress a shudder.

The nurse, misreading my revulsion for fear, thrusts the bundle in my direction. “Don’t worry, if you support the head, it will keep the newborn safe and stable.”

I grin hollowly. There goes my stability. Continue reading I can’t be a Father

Demon in Disguise

I’ve caught myself an angel,

No more to fly away;

Grounded to the solid earth,

No more to soar on high.

I’ve caught myself an angel,

I ripped off her glossy wings;

Now she is one of us

Earth bound beings.

I’ve caught myself an angel,

Isn’t she divine?

She is beautiful and graceful,

An exotic bird on arm.

I’ve caught myself an angel,

That refuses to leave my side;

She pines if I leave her long,

Tightly grasps my sleeve.

I’ve caught myself an angel,

For me she trades the sky;

The outer realms of space and flight,

Heaven, cosmos, and universe.

I’ve caught myself an angel, Mother,

I cannot give her up;

It is very hard to tell, mother,

Who is a slave to whom.

An angel has caught myself,

She’ll never let me go;

No matter how far I run,

In chains, she drags me back.

An angel has caught myself,

Now I’m trapped in this snare;

How could I have ever known,

That one’s possessions can also possess?

An angel has caught myself,

She stole my budding wings;

I couldn’t leave her if I tried,

She’ll go and hunt me down.

An angel has gotten a hold of me,

Now we breed discontent;

I am tied to her, she is tied to me,

One great happy family.

An angel has gotten a hold of me,

Resentful she has been;

I am punished for my sins,

She taunts me to atone.

An angel has got a hold of me, mother,

She will not let me go;

It was good while it lasted, mother,

But now we live in hell.