Poem: But Clearly, I am Missing Something

But Clearly, I Am Missing Something.

A deep breath. A starting. A belief
in the power of second chances,
in the power of resurrection,

I have seen hate first hand,
seen it bump against me face twisted,
finger pointed, fury and distorted soul too close,
spittle flying, felt the recoil, the fear of that madness.
Because it is madness. It IS fear.

Anything that jettisons the humanity of “them”
is madness.

I have been them. I have lived in places
where choices must be made. Food or medicine?
Gas for work, or pay the bill?
I have, it seems, loved the wrong people.
believed my faith. When I failed it, I knew.
I repented. I began again. Because those simple words
love one another meant something,
came without conditions, precluded hate,
a challenge to be lived, not an inconvenience
to be put back in the box of discarded toys.

I am older now. I have survived hate.
I will survive more,
But age means I am dismayed more and more by it.

What has hate built? Who has been built up by it?
And who has been torn down?
What has love built? Who has been built up by it?
And who has been torn down?

They say, when you grow older, you grow more childlike.
There is some truth in that. Some lies as well.
I am simpler. More tender. And even with the scars,
stronger, less willing to give in
to hate, like a child, it seems so simple.

But clearly,
I am missing something.

About this poem.

I seem to be in ranting mood today.

The picture was taken in Munich.

Tom

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