You Feel Nothing and Judge

Such music and madness; every beat a chorus; and every

string a voice. I hear you—fraught with anger, and passing

judgment; but never infraction, and ever solution, gazing

towards horizon. You wouldn’t dare; and dare you

wouldn’t. So love such a pureness, where pigeons dwell

and freely feed. But what of life: a mark and mar; where

some pride such life on death and destruction. How does one

flee? and how does one pardon infection? Indeed, where

would you stand: ever judging—experiencing nothing?

A sideline is thrust with beauty and insight; but the trenches

are flushed with pain and subtle-hatred. So welcome a

heartbeat, as American as democracy and war; else, pause,

ponder, and petition—an underfelt dimension; for sorrow

haunts, plaguing a fortress, where children suffer ignorance.