Broken, Mend
©February 22nd, 2017
By Vijaya Sundaram
I love you, and you, and you.
I love them, and them, and them.
But not those who crush love.
Pity them, and fear them
For what their fear
Has visited upon them.
Unwilling to look in the mirror,
The empty ones redirect their gaze
Back at others, innocents all,
Who, moving through their lives
Breathe truth and love,
In anxious toil and hope –
And, redirecting, the empty ones
Try and destroy, over and over.
Jealous and fearful their rage
It must be stamped out.
And how, how?
I wish love upon them.
I wish pity upon them.
I wish sorrow upon them.
I wish an uprush of self-terror so great
It will tear through their defenses –
Where they cower and hide
And scroll through lies –
And lay bare their empty space,
Where the ground is barren,
Where the light is borrowed.
Where the voices are broken,
Where their minds are blind.
And as they rush about to tend
To their self-wounds, in the fabric
Of the walls so lacking in love,
They will collapse, and wail,
And the skies will drown them
With rain and quench
Their empty places.
Let us go in, and
Plant some seeds.
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