But… What’s the Cure?!

But… What’s the Cure?!

But… how can we ever hope to cure the ones

Who choose to hate and rage…

Who follow blindly their puppeteers,

Memorizing each slanted page

Of lies and violent darkness

From which they learn but evil…

And thus are sown the rotting seeds,

The choice of willing weevils

For which there seems no cure.

Good men may try to compensate

And overlook their differences,

To meekly even propitiate…

And still… there seems no cure…

If one does not admit to being ill.

And thus… the split does widen

To depths that won’t be filled.

A note: one time in recent history

They eagerly did choose

To leave a nation united…

But they were bound to lose.

Their deficiencies demanded yet to overcome,

Their rage to never end

Fanned by illogic, jealousy, and ignorant fear…

Unending messages to send.

To those who wish to shake the hand

Which much prefers the gun

And hence I say: so be it…

Your choice is that of one

Refusing to learn what is simply true

And real and wise and caring,

Instead of being a low-down bully

Intent on hurtful bearing.

A preference for bitterness,

Hollow eyes which view all life

With limited ways ill-chosen,

Fostering backward fears and strife.

And so, you see… a cure is duly shunned

By those of cult-like ways,

Instead of living creatively,

Instilling value to each day.

And if they choose so willingly

To walk the lesser way…

Well then, I understand, dear puppets,

It is your choice then to play

This silly, senseless waste of time…

This foolishness to win or lose,

Intent on feeding divisiveness

By their useless game of Reds or Blues.

Life is a gift… for all to live…

Not a race declared as winner.

Better to sit down with friends

And share a well-cooked dinner.

It’s what you make with that given gift…

In truth and keen reality,

To live your life well-managed,

Most wisely and creatively.

It’s what you make of who you are…

And those perceptions you can choose.

Life is a deserved privilege…

Not a “race” to win or lose.

United, then, we may not be,

As I choose not to be your brother…

For you do strangle all that is good…

Your joy is but to smother.

To smother the world, the air we breathe,

Destroying aimlessly…

Taking away the joy of life,

And if you wish to be free…

Then hunker down, on your own ground,

And let others be free

To choose what’s wise and true,

To live creatively.