We don’t really save each other.
Not really in our nature.
We close with and destroy,
evoke the primal senses.
Beckoning in temptation,
but we aren’t built
to break limbs for each other,
lift up each other’s burdens.
Drag my cross to Golgotha.
Stand in the face of danger.
If we were,
those who did
would not be the exception.
It would be “normal”.
In a world of heroes,
it would take something
akin to a god
to be considered a higher being.
Then,
I remember,
there was a time
when it was only us
and our ideal.
We reflected it
and we reveled in it,
embodied its whole spirit.
So maybe we were heroes
once
upon
a time.
Not sure if we need
to be saved,
or if we need
to save ourselves?
Either would be preferable
to these misguided,
private hells,
that we insist on making public,
that we value our opinions
over the lives of others.
It’s such a disappointment
to watch
you watch
me drag
this cross
and you spit on me.
There’s no saving you.
Can I reach out a hand
so you will see that my scars
match the ones
on your heart?
HG – 2019
Nicely paced!
Thank you for reading it!
My pleasure!
I like to feel
the flow
of words.
This was simply beautiful and held meaning for me, on a more personal level, this morning.
I am happy that you enjoyed it. Thank you for reading it!