Death, or politics? Politics have neither death’s dignity nor purpose; and they lack death’s sublime, optimistic future; for after death, that which is once said to have been living, goes on living in myriad forms and ways; whereas politics are an accumulation of toxic waste matter that is dangerous to all living things. That politics often cause death, is reason enough to set them aside. Why sacrifice my precious energy trying to justify beliefs and systems that are flawed and destructive by their very nature? My life can end at any moment; had I not better focus on love, and follow my own course of work? If I can love you without doing you harm, and perhaps even help you, if help is truly what you need, or if I can remind you that beauty is where you thought there was none, then my death, which is inevitable, may become one more cherry blossom poem.
April 4-5, 2020. Evening. Morning.
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Categories: Everything and Nothing, New Poems & Pieces
Tags: Cherry Blossoms, Death, Diaries, Journals, Love, Poems, Poetry, Politics, Work