the broken songs of our race
jab sharp spears against
the overburdened heart of history
(our ends of course justify the means)
we have always
made the choice not to survive
without casting stones at sinners.
so we blame blind eyed destiny for
subtly seeping scarlett letters
into the bared bone melody
of earth’s humming voice,
+ etching permanent bullet holes
in our skinbound human harmony.
we savagely reap + sew
endless staccato scars,
plunging our necrotic needles into
the keeper of all life
as she begs + pleads for us
to learn, remember,
or at least sing freely.
lately it seems as if
only the sullen strains of discord
sound in our depths.
the delicately fluting grace
of love’s unstrung notes
instead, a chorus of fear ripples through
our increasingly distant lyrics.
have we lost our place
in the song of the universe?