Good people don’t tear
Pedals from flowers for fun
This deep need to read
Our fortunes off the pain of others
Always puzzles me
This potency of poems
To evoke rage
When ordinary words don’t,
The power we breathe
Into what we create
Life out of nothing
We like gods
Shaping existence
Never before seen
As thunderous as a hurricane
Or as gentle as a leaf
We torturing all to squeeze
Life out of the lifeless
To make real out of unreal.
Good people do not do bad things
Without becoming bad,
Though sometimes bad people
Do good
In this insane existence
We must tread between
Conception and cremation
Each step filled with dread
We might cease to be the former
And fall into the latter,
This faulty concept of misconception,
Believing we are good
When we do bad,
Like Christian crusaders
Evoking Christ
In a crusade to seize trade
With the wealthy Far East,
We misconceive,
Get lost,
Misstep
Along this trail to nowhere
Turning back
To retrace our steps
Without the bread crumbs
To lead us to where
We once were,
To that place where
We first erred,
This our desperate attempt
To become good again
When the best we can ever manage
Is to do good despite being bad.
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