The Cure

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The Cure

“Calling Major Tom--check ignition, and may God’s

love be with you.”--David Bowie.

Love is a chameleon.

It has many faces.

                    I love

                    my wife,

                    shooting pool,

                    my children,

                    chocolate,

                    my family,

                    strawberry sundaes,

                    my friends,

                    movies.

                    my planet,

                    rust on anything,

                    my self,

                    and starry nights.

Spiritually, we’ve been taught

to love our neighbor

and our fellow man/woman/person;

but the Mongols, the Romans, the Nazis

and have taught us

that hate and violence

can Trump love,

can stifle and cripple it.

Love is like a fragile flower.

Hate is like a very contagious disease,

spreading like a plague pandemic.

I feel like a caged bear

that is poked and prodded and starved,

who is expected to wear a clown hat

and perform tricks for the patricians.

So far I have learned to love

my chains, but not my tormenters.

Love resides within me,

housed in secret chambers.

It has a voice, and it illuminates

my soul. It tells me clearly

not to reciprocate the vitriol

from those brown shirts

and Tammany thugs

that presently people my sphere.

It informs and consoles me

that regardless of the fascist fusillades 

and the populist puppet bombardments,

it will survive; further it will rise

like a rabid wildflower

ready to break through concrete,

with arms open and heart vulnerable.

Love most certainly is the antidote

that will heal a broken world;

something wholly true, tangible

and inevitable. I am prepared.

Are you?

Glenn Buttkus

Posted over at dVerse Poets Pub