Born into this earth alone
Every face
Accentuated by eyes
Penetrating pores
Open twenty-four hours at a time
Dilated by scrutiny.
I am a slave to sensitivity
Cursed my vulnerability
Whenever possible.
Always.
No tear worth exploiting
No drop of blood worth shedding
Into a stew
Boiled underneath a bonfire
Of passion fanned by zephyrs of rage.

I lay awake sometimes.
Taking a break from hibernation,
For on most days
I am a hermit
Seeking refuge
Within the narrow tunnels
Of my veins,
Counting the seconds
Until the air I breathe
Contaminates my reality
Even more.
There are days
I speed the process up
If only by microscopic increments.

The mind wanders
Quite often.
Sailing through serotonin seas
Soaring
Secretly sinking
Several inches away
From the awning
Covering the wooden docks
Appropriately labeled sanity,
Not to be confused with security
Or serenity
Beyond the horizon of possibility.
They are but tall tales
Recited by elderly fishermen
Catching whoppers
Of false pretenses.

I have taken several paths.
Many dimly lit.
I have stopped in mid-step
And out of lockstep
If only to take time
To make direct contact
With fellow pedestrians
On this road
Hereby christened life.
Along the way
I have encountered soldiers
Stationed by life’s outskirts.
Vigilantes fighting wars
Against all who dare
Walk by their sides.
Stone cold killers
Empowered by myths
Relative in nature
And just as inane.

I’ve met soldiers
Subscribing to archetypal
And often stereotypical norms.
Embracing characters
Caricatures
Animated
Two-dimensional portrayals
Of lifestyles and cultures and causes,
Noble in their combat
Yet unprepared to come face to face
With those they claim
To fight for and with,
With those they claim
To know
From homepages
Heavily hyperlinked
To more reputable sources.
They fail to see the individual
Behind the rituals
Or the subtle modesty
Practiced on a daily basis.
Quick to analyze
Quicker to attribute traits
To other soldiers
As dictated by inhabitants
Of flashy mansions
And vehicles
Adorned with bones.

I’ve chatted with soldiers
Consumed with self-hatred.
Noble in their need to improve
Yet willing to shed
Their own values
For recognition.
They are rebel fighters
Inebriated on the images
They wish to portray
Damn near drunk on their egos
Bruised time after time
Alienated from all
Wishing to branch out
Without ever learning
Or growing
Intellectually
Socially
Or otherwise choosing
To take initiative
In aiding their fellow man,
For they are merely distractions
From the insular universe
Manifested by an explosion
Of apathy
Symbiotic with self-pity.
Focused yet selectively blind.

I’ve broken bread with soldiers
With various agendas.
Goal-oriented individuals
Valuing humanity
Even when the concept is seemingly comatose.
Rising against corruption
At every given moment.
A civil war exists
Within this platoon.
United they stand under the banner of liberalism
Yet divided they fight or abstain.
Honorable are those who struggle
To amplify their messages.
Intolerable are those are those seeking credentials
Or status,
Wearing badges of justice
Like studded brooches,
Unfastened when convenient.
They are hypocrites in a special class
Of an exclusive breed
They are “fucking” hypocrites.

I’ve schmoozed with soldiers
Looking for fixes
Without regard for consequences
Attached to those who care.
Supposedly.
Reciprocity is an aspect
Best left neglected
In their eyes.
Bound by undying faith
To a higher being
Draped in ivory
In conjunction with amber accents.
These combatants fight
The majority of their battles
With themselves.
Craving assistance
Yet blind to hands
Extended in friendship.
They are a cause
Who in my editorial opinion
Are worth fighting for.
They are the ones
Fearfully giving up their lives
For momentary lapses of reality,
And the wicked uppercuts unleashed
Sometimes miss the jaw
And fracture the jugular instead.

I’ve shot the shit with soldiers
Seeking purity.
Soiled underneath the skin
Wrought with imperfections
Yet quick to pass judgment.
Condemn.
Reject.
Censure.
Ostracize.
All based on an elitist notion
That they know the path
To conscientious distillation.
Like vodka,
They are now free of taint
And burn the throats of all
Who come into their contact.
They are the preachers.
They are the choirs.
They are the soulless wonders awaiting verdicts
At their narrow pulpits.

I could go on and on
Ranting about society.
Endless gripes on human tendencies.
Undying dissent on liberal misuse of logic.
Cynical outlooks on selective scruples.
Have I joined an army?
I’m sure I have.
My identity as a soldier
Still remains,
Though misconstrued by others.
Myself more so.
It is masked by rage
Self-inflicted and initiated
By a lack of appreciation or nurture
For nature,
Interpersonal
Environmental
And otherwise.
Solutions for progression
Lie within our hearts
Born pure and good.

I challenge the status quo
With every word in this poem
If only to make sense
Of our race.
Every race.
Diversity be not a trademark of Benetton.
Beauty be not a trademark of Mattel.
Love be not a trademark of Philadelphia.
The endless variety of the previous concept
Will not result in a spontaneous
Burst into a Motown duet,
A burning house,
A voyeuristic mother,
Straight jackets,
Incarceration,
Or cross-country stalking.
Peace lies within the individual
Spreading like germinating seeds
Floating in the direction
Of the first heart
Open to pollination.

Elohai neshama sh’natata bi t’hora hi!
Elohai neshama sh’natata bi t’hora hi!
Elohai neshama sh’natata bi t’hora hi!

My God, the soul you have given me is pure.
My God, the soul you have given me is pure.
My God, the soul you have given me is pure.
And I assure you,
So is yours.
Whether you dwell within oceans of tears,
Infernos of rage,
Mountains of stability
Or winds of spontaneity,
You are pure.
Now prove it.

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