Hope for the Poisoned


These are not truths.
And what was said
Came from an unordered heart,
A poisoned heart,
One that is dead,
Starved of truth and goodness.

But beauty remains—
Like spirit-wind over dark waters.
And if beauty hovers,
Then it can be made good
Through truth
Like a shock from a defibrillator
Reviving the dead heart,
Sucking poison from arteries,
Unblocking the stifled passions
And filling the lungs with wind
Once again.

There is hope
For the resentful
The embittered
The dissatisfied
The self-righteous
The poisoned
And me.

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