Wednesday, June 10, 2020

The Dialog This Time

There is nothing of the truth, per se,
     In what they are saying.
They’ve been stuffed full of rags
     And lit on fire.
They dance in the suffering
     Of their immolation
As if those not in flames
     Are the cause of their pain.

We try to speak to them,
     To ask their permission
To put out the fire.
     They won’t hear a word.
If we’re not like them
     On fire
We are not
     Any good.

For to understand burning
     Makes us human,
Which would be fine, even noble,
     If they knew they were on fire.
Instead, they pretend that we are
     The ones who are burning.
They have to stay away
     Lest they ignite.

So many generations
     Of incinerated lives,
This is not the time, they say,
     For tolerance.
The books of dissent
     Ignite at their touch,
Because, to them, what is human
     Must be saved.