Who am I?
With every new moment, come the questions:
First always Why?
Second, Do I care?
Three vies with four.  Between
Does anyone?  and  the one in the song
Peggy Lee aced with her husky,
come-hither voice and done-been-
and seen glare:
Is that all there is?
Is that all there is?
Who am I down the list, but I estimate
its importance as one after midnight
when the owl hoots,
when the candle begins to blister
fingers and fire imagination,
when quiet at last descends,
when witches and goblins hover
just above clutching knives and hatchets
and guns for good measure.
When dark is both friend
and enemy.
When every question piles
at once,
When night-rose scent intermixes
with inhumanity's stench.
When answers try to cloak themselves
as sheep, then I know:
I am you.
You are I.
Separate but equal, as they say.
That some of us are judged more equal
is a shame and a crime.  As scary as it is
maddening!  
It is a castrated society when Money Talks
and Good Sense and Compassion Walk
backwards, being chained.
Starved!
Worship different gods, but what great
religion does not say, Grow in the direction
of acceptance.  Easy to hate, hard to Love.
Road is narrow and full of ruts.
 
Nightmare must stop.  Light more candles!
Only by celebrating our difference
in the dark of night as well as the light
of day, can we make a difference.
Can we love our selves [space = sic},
and by loving our selves. love
one another.
Yet we must never forget
I am you.
You are I.
 
{Night, Precious}

(c) Phyllis Jean Green, 2008