The greatest danger the world,
Has on saturation point,
Is not to touch upon the
Gift of all gifts, the democracy
Of our hearts to unite in palm, extend an olive leaf,
To address what makes our circumstances
Different. The darkest midnight,
Is not to, put into practice, the greatest
Virtue we have in our midst,
To veto the resistance of our own
Diabolical nature, to welcome,
That what makes us different, is not just
The mosaics of our genes,
And the abstraction of our color,
And personalities. We are never
Birds of a feather, only our songs,
Separate us. What makes us
Soft, is what gives us a bounty in gold,
Midas, is really about the human touch,
To transcend, our anemic selves,
Searching for another’s light.
Love is an onus, what mules
Carry in secret, trying to look,
As if they just don’t care.
The greatest hitch in our hearts,
Is that however much we try,
There’s a conscience bursting out
Like leavening bread in an oven.
We are, men, who, upon their hearts rest,
The greatest paradox of them all,
No man is too strong, as if, not to care.
The “bear” in us is not about,
The family Ursidae, or the fur coat,
Only the “bear”, the “carry” in our hearts.
How we look at the Ursa Major,
The great bear, knowing that we too
Have a big dipper. Our palms,
Our own spoons, our dippers, that reach out.
To bear, is our way of reminding ourselves,
That upon our hearts is a duty,
To leave behind our strength, our muscle
To do unto another, when cometh
The hour, when kindness, is not about
Showmanship, or making ripples, only
Courage, of opening one’s hardened fist, to
Know your fingers, and who they touch.
Touch, humanizes the palm, to show
That being mortal, is not just about
Our vice-prone nature, it’s also the mercury, in us,
What flows and ebbs, blitzing one minute,
Downing the next. Mortality, is not just,
Sinking, to our own kryptonites,
It is just as much, how we rise,
While living, by our capes.