In my own life, I stopped trying to block
your constant attempts at suicide by military and deceit.
I was tired of fighting you in so many of my failed attempts
to remove your blindfold and save you from yourself.
You clung to and fought for that blindfold
as if it were the child you had thrown
into the fire of war.
So here I sit along the water’s edge, civilization to my back, the incessant hum of a busy restaurant, and the inability of people to untangle themselves from the simple magic that is lies, their cascading words almost drowning out the subtle sounds of the forming of each crack in the structure that signals the inevitable collapse of a civilization that bases its decisions on deceit.
It seems in these moments of decay, I have finally grown an appreciation for the Argentine skills of poetry and genocide.
And yet, deep within the wreckage of my soul, that tiny solitary flame of hope ignited by my mother long ago still flickers to life now and then, illuminating the dark, alone.
Carry the flame or leave it. It’s up to you.
It’s always been up to you.
Next: Final Words