Tragic

I hear the boom
and the crackle of gun fire.
I live in a world where the sound of hate
is louder than the call to heal.  

I tire of useless gods,
swap them out    for any that give a damn.  

 I tire of government weasels
               who don’t give a shit.  

I tire of those who make me sad,
make me groan,
make me regret
I share a space 
in time 
and a genetic code. 

I live to cry 
and long to smile. 

Tears soak my pillow,
I wring it out 
and create streams 
that swell into rivers.

We kill, kill, kill 
then cry, cry, cry. 

Praying,
it’s someone else’s turn 
to die.  

We tolerate, 
legiti-mate,
the tools of the trade.

Needing the gun wielder
to shield us
from the gun wielding 
bomb thrower who follows ideologues
that have the innocent  die for the cause. 

Invisible ideologies that drive intelligent
beings,
to maddening acts.  

We prevent rabies, but have no clue,
how to vaccinate 
against the rabid god, 
the rabid leader 
the believer.  

              How tragic,
to be mired
in hate. 

Thomas Coex/Agence France-Presse — Getty Images

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