Prose - Where Is It That You Stand?
Do you want to read it from him, the name you barely recognize
The one who passed long ago with whom you cannot empathize
In a language you do not comprehend, even though it’s the one you speak
The one that trips your tongue; the words caught in your beak
Do you want to read it from me, the one you do not know?
How could it be relevant when it’s a charlatan who says so?
I will not stand on the shoulders of giants to make you cower
We are eye to eye so you will feel the myths I devour
You won’t utter a word I say from memory because it was important
As you have done so many times with the words you really want
Not so much because of what they say but rather because of whom
Whose memory is preserved with your approval, his book in your room
Are there no new lessons for you, even if you do not know the mistakes
That loom in your sterile mind which pride knows but foolishly makes
Can your desire for anything but thought be overcome by imploring words?
How does it feel to be trampled when you invited the lost thundering herds?
What error is so grave yet so shallow that you pretend it was as intended?
What day frivolously discarded is so unfulfilling that your worth was rescinded?
Which smile is it today my friend that drifts across your life not knowing when
Yes not knowing when it is appropriate to remain and when it is time to end
Have you received your mark, the one you may well deny some day?
Can you erase it as surely as it was placed, so carefully as you lay?
And yet you do not even know of what I speak yet see so clearly in you
All your beliefs and fears hardening to protect the heart you never knew
You gave it no chance, because what you heard was not what they meant
It grew so fast you had no choice but to endure as your life was spent
Can you imagine yourself doing what it is that I could possibly describe
Even before you know anything except everything you’ve ever felt inside?
Can you make the decision to venture away from everything you’ve believed
If I could prove that it was wrong from the moment it was ever conceived?
Could you believe that the seed was planted with you in mind all the time
And that your anonymity could not conceal you from the idea of their crime?
The one against humanity brought to bear on you alone to suffer endlessly
Because you could only think to follow in the comfort of living callously?
Where is it that you stand, does it provide you the comfort of your worth?
You want what you are not and you deny the truth of your birth
Are you in discomfort because there is nothing here that I have stolen?
Because there is no list of obscure legends in the web I have woven?
The is no reference to the things I say, they are all mine to offer
In time maybe after I am gone you will know that I care how you suffer
But in the instance of these things that I bring to your labored attention
I tell you now that all you can be and all that you are not is my intention
And to think that life is a game to a bitter end of useless knowledge
You can live now, larger than before if you would only acknowledge
That you are the discovery worth pursuing and not what you know of others
For they have their culture and it is time not to join but to leave pretended brothers
For they know you are not about them but about wanting to be like them
In time you will know that you will never be like them because you are not of them
The truth for you to discover are the questions if you can bear to read
For you to discover that what you believe is another man’s creed
And so what national interest is worth the life of a child in forgotten wars?
And so what profit motive is worth the cause of conflict within our shores?
And so what going concern is worth a precious mind that cannot find relief?
And so what flag is worth the pain of a mother's unending grief?
And so what God sets in motion the cause of savage genocide?
And so what mandate sanctions the destruction of an indigenous tribe?
And so which man is insane, he who cries before or after the innocent are dead?
And so who is more worthy those who rule the world or those who are misled?
And so what moral code justifies the survival of technical superiority?
And so what fact of certainty sends men to their deaths in the name of destiny?
And so what courage will it take to say, “Never again?”
And so what life will be sacrificed to end the devil’s reign?
And so when will two men with passionate minds come together?
And so why must we hate and cause heartache instead of loving one another?
And so what fail safe point exists to save humanity from our terrors?
And so what decision is rooted in a mistake carried by pall-bearers?
And so what history of life is to be sacrificed to rip a chapter from a book?
And so what memory of the past is unable to see because no one will look?
And so what pride of self is worth the disillusion in the idea of a nation?
And so what lost hope is worth the end of our soul’s salvation?
And so what fear is worth ignoring common decency?
And so what victory is worth torture for expediency?
And so what singular cause is worth the eclipse of those who bring light?
And so what man can decide to shred the Bill of Rights?
Where have all the flowers gone my friend, a nation weeps for you
All we have are words, promises that were never true
A spoken myth passed on, change, a faraway place
Each person longing with nothing but a blank face
The petals wander alone, searching for a stem
Unable to join together, always asking when?
The plow destroyed the garden, war, the hand on the till
We, with our faded memories, take refuge in a pill
The vultures glide above us, silently seeking their prey
We, unknowing, flounder, grasping at honor as we play
Our hearts confront the horror, inviting the bullet home
Take us from this place, it is better to allow our mind to roam
The shores of your mother’s intentions for you are under your feet
Return to your ship or allow the transformation to be complete
In the Diaspora of every emotion you’ve ever felt and denied
The answer lies waiting, but do you know who told the truth and who lied?
COPYRIGHT 2012. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. THE SUBURBAN POET (MARK LECUONA)