Listen, I know it’s hard to admit it.
I know it’s harder to remember it.
I know you’re scared,
cause I am too.
And when I see you scared
see it reminds me,
that we’ve all got more in common
than we know how to acknowledge.
And I kick myself every time I forget it,
and I realize I only remembered because
someone else reminded me
and in the instant before I am grateful
I am jealous
my small scared self is afraid
that I’m not always the one in possession of the Truth.
and I pray to be humble enough –
not to succumb to fear –
to kiss the feet of any brother or sister
who can still remind me when I forget
see cause we’re just passing it around,
the love.
cause you can’t have it for yourself.
you can’t keep it.
i only have it when you share it with me
and you only have it
cause you share it with me.
that’s the only way anything worth existing

I’m tempted to call it divine timing.
When your refreshment
of my ego trip
saunters around the corner just in time to deliver salvation
piping hot enough to burn my tongue
cause I needed a good humbling.
Not that any gods are busying themselves
for our sorry sake,
but somehow the magic prevails.
Not that my tongue is all that’s burning –
paper tigers can’t seem to catch a match
but America, your house is on fire and don’t you for a minute call it arson –
you left boiling pots, you left smoking guns – call it negligence.
call it reckless.
call it willful.
call it arson – you set your own house on fire cause you thought you’d collect insurance cause you thought you were clever
cause you were bored, cause you were tired of all your old pretty things,
cause you saw what someone else had and you wanted it,
and scheming’s always worked before
but now it’s getting hot, ain’t it. there isn’t really anywhere else to run,
when you set your own house on fire.
and what do you grab, when it’s burning down around you?
what is it that really matters?
does your innocence return to you
when you are a running animal again,
when your desires become simplified
can you see then through the smoke you wrapped around you?
Not punishment, not even justice,
but consequence.
It seemed for a while there like the smoke was working for you
making all those unfortunate shadows on the street
look a little more romantic,
look like furniture almost
in your house.
yes your house, yours,
sounds nice, doesn’t it?
when they offended you
they were rubbish
and when they caught your eye
you said, entertain me.
You didn’t realize, America
they weren’t shadows
of your fantasy.
They were people.
They are people.
We are.
And see we’ve all got more in common
than we know how to acknowledge.

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