image borrowed from bing
Never be pushed into abysmal darkness,
badgered by bullies, under duress.
Darwin may have figured it wrong,
one can survive with Pan’s song
on our pursed lips, while turning cheek,
owning pain, not accepting the meek
label forced raw upon our delicate person;
we search for compassion and find none,
we open our arms warm and wide,
allowing their bile access inside;
we know we are not a flesh doormat,
so we change bellicose to gnat;
we retaliate with a genuine smile
as contagion, de-fusion for a while.
Posted over on dVerse Poets-FFA