I thought I could not write because of my pain.
Not, so.
I hesitate to write because of my disdain.
You know.
I think you have may felt it before.
It rises not from my within.
It rises from your within. It is your most-feared sin.
It sleeps in the place your secrets are kept
of all the times you felt inept.
While I simply raced along your side,
trying to match all the runners with pride.
But, you did not want me there.
That is your eternal prayer.
You thought I should stay in my place.
You feared I could actually win the race.
You deep-down know how weak that feels.
You deep-down know how foul the appeal
to those who would embrace
every runner in the race.
So, you create fake news and tell stories
that cause the runners and watchers to worry
that the race is fixed, corrupt and costly.
You can only lose if there is nothing left to gain.
You prefer full destruction than your personal pain.
You care not the cost.
You cannot handle a loss.
It is you I disdain.
You, I hear explain in rambling detail the goodness,
rightness, advancement of hate.
You who shuts doors and padlocks the gates.
You, I watch burn books and erase history.
You, who imagines a world draped in mystery
where no scientific fact
can remain intact.
My words cannot be allowed to create
more fear, more sense of loss, more hate.
My words could darken the stars.
My words could start wars.
That I cannot allow and must abate.
I cannot add one ounce to your tons of hate.
If you think these words apply to one man,
you sadly misunderstand.
They apply to all of us, to me and to you.
We created the world we try to eschew.
In our deep spaces are we mere bagatelle?
Are we a nation without a story to tell?
We need not seek nor accept our ruination.
We have a Constitution, amended to perfect our nation.
We race not to win a trophy nor prize.
The race does not rely on crowd size.
We run to show how races can be won
when runners align and voters cheer on
every runner who flies by.
By my definition
the greatest competition lies within.
Racism is our Original Sin.
annarino writes 
FIGHTING WORDS
Poetry has fled.
Art hides in plain sight
behind clouds of flame,
beyond winds of change,
before plutocrats take the stage,
no longer waiting behind the scenes
which hide their rage.
Words have lost all meaning
when facts go unchecked
flung too fast to sustain truth
and belief in its power to right wrongs
for the weak and the poor,
tossed aside by courts which cower
fearing loss of wealth and power.
Which words are safe when lies procure
the party in power’s silent vote to score
total control of each life, each thought,
each breath threatened by dirty schemes
to pollute the earth, water and air?
Words cannot be spoken, claimed by death
of the rule of law.
No words exist to describe the depravity
some of us saw
as our words lay dying
first inside
then outside
where meaning can be lost.
Words remain frozen in heavy frost,
weighed down by cold hearts
and dead souls
seeking total control.
Freedom resides in words
which too often remain unsaid.
Words too softly spoken to wake
those asleep, escaping, all hopes dead.
Too few words of truth must compete
with an onslaught of unchecked lies.
I listen and watch, lost in thought.
I write and I plead against what we have wrought.
Poetry, I fear, carries too-little weight.
Poetry, perhaps, has waited too late
to escape the threat when so many lies
have buried the truth for power and greed.
Money has always been the creed
clothed in religion and faith
which grants God’s grace
to those who deserve to see His face
on dollar bills and hung on towers.
False gods seek our praise as they devour
a country whose best citizens
refuse to use their power to remain free,
and would rather lose their democracy.
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