The weight of the world
Is heavy upon Atlas’s shoulders
We should thank Zeus
That such a burden assigned
To one of immeasurable strength
Hercules
Samson
With great power,
Comes great responsibility
Like these
Resting is not an option
We have shown
We cannot control
Nor contain
Ourselves
In all our greatness
Unable to support
That which we are
Lighten the load
Even gods become weary
In welldoing
THESE HANDS gripped the machetes
in Rwanda to butcher 800 thousand.
THESE HANDS poisoned and starved
millions, burned to ash in WWII ovens.
THESE HANDS launched rockets into
Aleppo, striking innocents into carrion,
spattered amid shattered concrete and
tangles of rebar, wire, and precious toys.
THESE HANDS did evil work, spewed from
the gut of Hell. They belong to killers who
claim allegiance to noble causes. No soap
can wash THESE HANDS, dirty with denial.
I have a problem with that
she says
But I have a problem
with greed and hatred
with digging sharp claws
of self-promotion into
delusions of control
I have a problem with more
that goes on in “polite”
society than I let on.