On reading "The Diary of Anne Frank"

 

I am reminded of

the many things I take

for granted.

I have soap and water,

as much as I like,

I have books and outside

sources of information and entertainment.

I have communication.

I have windows

to look out any time I want.

I have room to move, to walk, to drive, to breathe.

I have community and

I have privacy.                                             

And I also have

a warning.

Offer it Up

It’s not the wickedness that kills us
but the expectations
and the pretense

It’s not the poison apple

or even the apple

of The Knowledge of Good and Evil

it’s the hundreds of apples

over the years

bruised and mealy

offered for our own good

 

It’s not the single, clean stab of a blade

it’s a thousand paper cuts

it’s not one deep gash from the sword

but a million little jabs of the pen

that add up to our demise

 

Death by hypocrisy

death by conformity

death by good intentions

 

Image by Brooke Shaden.

Written  shockingly late for The Sunday Muse.

The Trouble with 'The Trouble with Poetry'

Today I read

the 'Trouble with Poetry'

by Billy Collins

and the trouble with that is

that now I want to steal

those words he has written,

which is exactly

what the poem is about.

Well, exactly, sort of,

in the way poetry is always

about something, but it’s really about

something else altogether too.