such arrogance, this trope
where we bend a new world
to our image, our doubts
and failings, our belief
we are somehow unique
against which all other
must be compared wholly
is too simple a path
to follow with devotion
who are we to demand
our vision, no matter
how myopic, provide
a luminous clarity
for all who are not us
as if we were small gods
caught up in a turf war
where any loss in faith
begins a slow decline
that in and of itself
becomes a corollary
tangental to love:
so we cower in fear
the mind’s splinter slices
along old wounds to bleed
like stigmata, easy
to hold close, as our days
fall away to soft ash
(July 3, 2024)
subtext 