Can death cure cancer?
We need
heroes, not victims
with broken
necks
said the old
man
tending to
the cactus in his garden
To celebrate
life, love and large-heartedness
A young boy
who could have
walked in
the sunshine,
sat near his
mother
patting her
calloused palm
and brought
smiles to wrinkles
hidden under
grey hair
He could not
find a hero to emulate
for they are
a dwindling lot
instead he
shot at imagined villains
just as your
son would do
if he laid
hands on a new video game
Another
bleeding soul
set loose to
wander
among the
wasted ones
He sucked a
drop of blood
off a
careless finger
Thorns prick
if you love cacti a bit too much
as do
religion, patriotism and other differences
which makes
ours an arrayed world
Water them,
watch them bloom, celebrate their flowers
But compare
them to roses with thorns
and you
manufacture unhappiness all around.
The fighting
pawn on the board
bumped
because he hung around to see
if he would
be rewarded by the dummy king.
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