21 Jan 2017 – Sonnet
There is a darkness men no longer wish to name.
Loci of evil – evil being “out of style”,
a “value judgment from man’s childhood” moderns claim.
Our arms hang useless in the face of what is vile,
and we negotiate – or so we hope – with doom,
believing we are pacifists who have no foes,
believing “in each human heart good finds some room”
deceived by truces sworn, and blind to coming woes.
We hate the knife-edge cuts we take from “black and white” –
perhaps because we know our tawdry souls are gray,
and we prefer equivocating to the bright
and clear distinctions truth demands, since we can’t pay
the ferryman to take us back from whence we came,
our pockets empty – suckers losing at this game.