It’s so terrifying

because you choose to make it

disdainfully beautiful.  It is a terror

of hurting your own kind.  He was so

little, right there in my own arms, I held him


the little baby Dying in a dying land.  I

could smell the sick in his crying.  Sitting

in a chair on that burning underground coal


mine created by greed, I took his picture.  A baby


starving with HIV darker  skin toned than me.  I wept

as if I were his mother.  It is not a choice

to experience life.  I just sang to him,


and sang in constant learning of openness.  Make

each embrace a rising of Grace.  The bird of burnt

flying named for the sake of hope.  Be grateful for those


so very human moments.  We are of interest to each other.

Are we not?  Semantics are important.  Tell me,

whose jargon do you speak?  We are all foreign to each


other so much depends on translation.


Is it like me? Give me water.  There is no

~          ~          ~          ~          ~ greater intimacy than the need for


water…we all thirst.  Man thirsts for meaning

in an age of too bereft  people.  We live

in the age of untruthfulness shutting out voices


we don’t want to hear. It’s all artificial,

except for the truth of every starved body


sincere touch is the soul’s companion.



  1. How well the poem builds to that last most poignant line.

  2. i’m not sure but I thought I’ve seen this or that you have read it. but one stands clear in my mind is that you know work the tough social issues of our time. looks like a compliment.

  3. Reblogged this on disdainfulbeauty.

Comments RSS TrackBack Identifier URI

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s