Mess

I see no men around worth depriving of honor.
I see men who need their pride,
Those who need commending,
And men who must commend –
Who remember their own worth,
That is to give as they’ve received.

We give our best to all:
The one who has many stores
And the other with only sores.
What’s evil is done by those,
The men who’ve thought “no other way.”

I’ve yet to meet the one
Who knew love and compassion true
Who’d turn the brute instead
And slash all about his stead.
No! First we are broken
And then we break all we can
To disable wildly the hurtful world
Before it hurts again.

Kindness is mistaken for sham,
As weakness or cowardice
Or to deceive and shame again.
Someday, we’ll undo this mess –
Someday, we’ll stop and rest.

Featured image: ‘Prisoners’ Round,’ by Vincent Van Gogh (1890), image in the public domain.

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