When fearing the world is all you know...

Thoughts knotted up in waves of dread,
Anticipating advancing armies on front-porch steps.
Thunder of heartbeat, sweaty palms,
You can never seem to catch your breath.
Take another pill. Pour another drink.
Such is your dilemma.

Life in a prison of fight or flight.
Frozen in fear of knee-jerk over-reactions
Road rage altercations, and the possibility
Of red-button preemptive nuclear strikes.
You sit, lost in your right wing talk show static,
Paralyzed by the prospect of your own inevitable demise.

Knowing in your heart of hearts
That sooner or later you will be taken out
By a car bomb pizza delivery driver,
By a platoon of trash truck storm troopers,
By police patrolling in unmarked ski masks,
Or perhaps, by the postal brigade with its
Never-ending assault of junk mail,
Overdue bills, and pepper spray.

A dog barks somewhere in the distance and you cringe.

City sidewalks, avenues, and alleyways
The shopping center, even a picture perfect park,
Each a potential war zone, a soft target,
The perfect spot for death and disaster;
Another six o’clock broadcast of mayhem and carnage.

And if that wasn’t enough,
In your dysfunctional day after day, after day;
Every cycle comes to it’s mercilessly end
With the cowardly retreat of the sun’s condescending rays.
And each and every evening becomes
A nocturnal nemesis,
Bold enough to hold you hostage,
Leave you feeling lost and alone,
Naked, and afraid.

The outer darkness, now lorded over
By gangs of gutter punks and thugs,
Miscreants who’s sole and only purpose
Is to beat, to rape, to mug.
Running in packs like feral dogs,
Brandishing pistols and short lead pipes,
You are almost certain that they are the ones
Who go around shooting out the street lights.

But all of that is outside.
Inside,
A cacophony of crime stopping TV stars take center stage.
Your ashtrays fill with late night infomercials,
The infinite uncertainty tastes of depression
As tree limbs shake their leafy fists
And scratch upon your window panes.

You hide behind the curtain’s cloth
Rarely feeling brave enough
To gaze out and into that vast abyss
Where nothing good has ever happened;
Courage now suspect,
Self-defense smacks of arrogance,
Speaking out, synonymous with treason.

There is a reason the activists are chanting,
The anarchists are poised to riot,
Many suggest
Some assembly may be required.

But good deeds and fearless men and women
Continue to get shot down.
Self-serving political pundits continue to portray
Anyone with a sensible thought
As some kind of diabolical deviant,
Or worse, a two-bit circus clown.

They say, the government is the enemy,
They say, the peoples’ dream is a plot.
No matter whom you choose to believe,
Their op ed opposition never stops.

Brain matter razor edge name shredders agree,
Pit vipers are being secreted in angels’ wings.
Satan’s serpents lurking in every terrorist’s twisted mind,
Coiled, hissing and ready to strike.

And you, you have come to the conclusion,
No one out there truly cares.
Trapped by your end-of-days outlook,
Your harried mind is surrounded
By a host of white-hat messiahs,
Who come riding in on Armageddon nightmares.

In a world where ordinary people contemplate
The many means to take another’s life;
You have come to believe
Machine guns hide in back pockets,
Bombs tic-tock in book bags,
And steely daggers glint in every strangers’ eyes.

In a world where disaster is sure to strike you down,
You must never, never, never, never go outside.

Peace, love, and happiness, long gone,
With a tear, you raise a glass to bygone days.
Now drunk on the pooling of the blood;
This mud in your eye surrender,
This tapping through chaos with a white-tipped cane.




Michael True
6/15/2016 last edit 9/13/16