The Last Stanza

If I can produce peace through feeding the flames
of paying it forward,
through masochistic means of accepting
even more responsibility,
retroactively finding happiness
by pursuing my own dreams.

I would.

Like so many did before greed,
before plunder,
before the luxury of
silence overpowered the morality
of right and wrong.

Like so many did before hate,
before jealousy,
before miscommunication
created more lies to fill the bed
of our sad mortality.

If I could find peace through
breaking my own back by walking
on every crack in every sidewalk;
hoping for the reverse-that I was helping
mothers everywhere find relief
from suffering and loss.

I would.

Like so many seekers searching for dreams
or dreamers seeking the truth
or truth-seekers finding the evidence
of innocence in the eyes of
a convicted prisoner,

but you can’t set them free.

Like so many leaders without an army,
warriors without a leader,
victims without a savior,
saviors without a cause,
a cause that never ends

and never will.

If I could broker peace by flooding the
gates of human misery with
wave upon wave of love,
while grasping the hands of my other half,
my spiritual partner,
as we float on the tides of ecstasy,
preparing our entrance
into the city of stolen dreams.

The gates,
the walls,
the barriers would break.

 

 

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