By Coby Hobbs / Staff writer
The pestilence of us all,
Fellows use succor against succor, hope against hope,
Splitting the matter of all like quaken walls.
Makeshift roads with loads of pedestrians—eyelids flicker just in time as their shadows flummox,
Cantankerous to each other without even opposition in understanding human vulnerability.
Why must we twist our faces under their shelters?
Why must we wish to see a sufferer and then rejoice rather than grieve?
Why must we block the doors to our homes with malcontents?
Those adherents, us, them, you, me—fusillade ignited by kerosene with thickness even to that of our skulls.
All must walk the shoreline once,
Feet occasionally touched—wet—by the vast stretchy blue life of our world.
Eventually waves of love for multiplicity and unknown virtue will crash,
All may be okay with a nuanced composition,
All will be soaked through.
Hats and crowns will be blown off,
Exposing any cold skin to rays of understanding existing among each other.
Your being through them—
Theirs through you.
No more division of a wholly harmony
And then we will see behind our eyes and feel the constant beat of everything.