The cowards karma

Your eyes gazed at them writhing/ a strange singularity of purpose/ in the intent of a message spewed/ across the nerves of time/
received by a voyeuristic silence/ of cowardice in the age of man/ A tool of oppression as the hungry beg/ from the eyes of those sated/ chastising them for not earning their keep/ or your urgent priorities of self gratification/ but the thirst is now/ the being needs bread/ not a message from the pulpit/ They hear you in the silence of the preachers/ the silence of the dead/ and the silence of the peacenik/ for it is the shame you will carry/ to the place beneath your epitaph/ Here lies the coward that hid under a cloak of good intentions/ and masked his traitorous silent omissions/ as an eternal love for his people/

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I have always wondered of silence as a tool of oppression; silence to what is being asked of in the moment, the deflection of supplications, the gaslighting of those that suffer to make them appear crazy. Sometimes the mean spiritedness of pathology can mask itself as a good intention, the character of a pacifist and yet the omissions along denying food to the hungry, mercy to the victims of any outrage, a ear to those grieving and a heart for those that suffer is perhaps the most grievous assault on a vulnerable humanity. Nothing hurts as much as those that kill empathy through misplaced silence. It is the sin of omission.

Skypeing with my Father

All conversations aren’t worded,

When I Skype with my father.

We are just comfortable in our own silences,

While he catches a game on the TV,

Knowing I’m at the other end of the line.

As I punch out my assignments,

He hears a furious click click click,

Sometimes a monosyllabic grunt

Acknowledging each other,

While he’ll pose a random query

And I give a delayed answer.

But there is no hurry,

As he watches men rush behind a ball

And After a while I say,

“Dad, I’ve got to go, will talk tomorrow”

Or perhaps share another comfortable silence