National Poetry Month: Poem 1

When the villagers heads towards you, 

stomping their way to your door,

their path lit with the glow from the

condemnation of their eyes

and the  hollow glare from their kindles

 and iphones,

I hope you tell them that you believe.


When they pound on your door,
grimacing and jeering,
pitchforks dancing and hate flowing,
demanding to know what you believe in
 and why,
belittling and bemoaning your refusal to

bow down to all things plastic and 

superficial, 

I hope you tell them that you believe.

Whether you clutch the Koran for 
comfort,
trust in one god or five,

confess your sins into salvation,

or trust snakes to save your soul,

I hope you tell them what you really 

believe.


When they taunt your tears,
laugh at your fears,

are disgusted by your passion,
 
I hope, you will tell them that you still 

believe.

That you believe that laughing is 
medicine for your soul,
that kindness trumps dogma any day,

that hand holding is an art,
that books are magical,

that loving is brave,

that fake will not stand the test of time,

that words can burn but also heal,
that crying is okay,

that writing is breathing,
that forgiving is soul freeing,

and that kissing is a skill.

I hope you scare and seduce one by 
grabbing their hand,
and holding it to your breast and 

demanding them to feel your heart beat,

your life,

thump, thump, thumping in cadence to
 your own spirit, to your own beliefs.


I hope they know,

that your beliefs emerged because you
found life is precious and fragile,
because the days are numbered,

the sweetness you enjoy now is only 
because your palate is sensitive 
from choking  on sour for too long,
that your beliefs have changed,

have evolved, can and will change the 

more you taste life, the more you fail, the 

more you look foolish, the more you try. 



And oh my, do I hope they realize,
 even just one,
 that when they light that fire,
even if too late,
when that spark ignites,  
fueled by your own terrifed breath,
when that flame engulfs and terrorizes
 you into an ashy oblivion,    
 that was not the brightest moment of 
that dark night.
The fact that you stood brilliantly, 
unflinching, as your words tied you to 
your own pyre,
was the brightest, most beautiful 
moment of the night.

Maybe then, they will see that beliefs 
cannot be burned,
 they cannot be shamed into
submissivness,
 they cannot be scared and scattered 
into the winds.
 
And hopefully, they will find the courage
 to be brave enough to believe in 
something rather than trying to destroy 
someone's everything .
 

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