The Pit and the Fragile Things.

There is a pit between
I-care-about-you
and
I-care-about-being-right

into which all the fragile things fall.

When lovers and friends,
families and communities,
gather there,
everyone screams
if-only-I-could-make-you-see,
– ah, but the pit takes its toll –
all anyone hears is
if-only-I-could-make-you.

I have been no pacifist;
no innocent, I.
After all the battles only this certainty:
Wars make corpses or poets of men.
So I would sing you a song
about the fragile things easily lost,
such as goodwill and kindness,
I would sing you a song
about the merciless things,
such as blind Justice
and blinkered Injustice
with their gruesome blades,
neither of whom care
who they cut or where.

Ages come and go;
the world may revolve
but it does not resolve.
History is an awful stone wheel
rolling down a mountain
and we are delicate creatures
that alight on its surface,
to be thrust into the light
or plunged to a pulverising end,
yet engage in the folly
of claiming victory
– and the greater folly of laying blame –
for forces we barely grasp
and could not control.

I just want to hold you
because I don’t care.

Between
I-don’t-care-about-who-is-right
and
I-don’t-care-about-who-is-wrong
is space for
I-see-your-pain
and
I-don’t-have-all-the-fucking-answers
even
I-am-sorry
… but I see your pain, let me comfort you.