• Tricia D. Wagner

Set the Night Singing #2.24

Updated: Oct 14

It takes great wisdom –

open eyes,

to fathom truth and parse the lies

in every quarter thriving.

With gentle love,

how soft they speak

who spin the lies week after week –

lies from one small pond, bubbling.

Saint bodies bleeding,

soaked with tears

inspire flight, invoke deep fears –

a cross hangs, shadows casting.

The highest art is

how to bear

great suffering, and to compare

what agony each is shouldering.

Suppressing what it means

to be

the aim is to erase the me –

in angst, suffocating.

To worship pain

and poverty –

does no one have the spine to see,

these are the fruits of idling?

Truth whispers not

in shades of pain,

but drives in droves of sunlit rain!

Stay not in shadows thickening.

If pain on Earth

we each could ease

dead gods we would not need appease,

nor found hope on their quickening.

Take no cross. Scorn

the victim's cap.

Take up the book! The Sail! The Map!

and chase horizons broadening.

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