some battlegrounds and graves

who wants these divisions?

this drag on our happiness?

this endless expression of frustration?

without the balancing of scales,

there isn't hope for fair negotiation.

and if that's not unfortunate,

then honour isn't necessary.

there is deep grace taking a knee,

also foul wicked that has no language

beyond violence.

reluctance to engage is a useless illusion,

no one can deny intention here.

the art of being dominates all;

even mindlessness deliberate,

happiness as the path is very strong

but only if it's authentic samadhi rising.

imbibing heavily to push it down:

silent self destruction,

playing out the tragedy again.

slashing your arms and chopping your locks

covered in ashes and grief,

We watch you blowing yourself up and cry.

the statement of our punishment

with your inturned fury

inflicted on our world

in the terrible loss of your present spirit.

experiment of self inflicted violence

attempting avoidance,

revulsion about the nastiness

is vomiting in your anaesthetic drowning

overflowing the sewers.

all of us have different tipping points

so it is.

but that piece of you

that said 'not my problem'

and jailed true fierceness

with bylaws of fear

denying the power of vulnerability

and left you choosing sleep and rotting death?

you need to burn it down.