Dark Knight of the Soul

The past couple of days have been good ones for thinking.  Here’s a few rough thoughts:

 

Dark Knight of the Soul

 

Dark theater, crowd focused deep in the flashing story lights,

Cries of bullets fill the air.

A man in black costume steps from the screen,

In through the emergency exit, throws

Chaos from the pretend world into the real.

Cries of bullets fill the air,

Harmonizing with the show.

Fantasy draws an edge of steel.

 

Flesh of my flesh, where are we safe?

Where do we draw the lines?

Where are the rules, the heroes, the directors on this set,

Where the editors to rough cut the painful scene,

Leave it on the editing room floor.

Can we shout fire in this crowded theater?

Where are the writers to make sense of all this?

 

We watch images on the screen,

A dance for our entertainment:

Villain shoots the victim, is shot in turn.

What do we mean to each other?

News shot of bomb blasts in a foreign land,

Spattered blood on white clothing.

What do we mean to each other?

Climbers tumbling under mountain snow slide,

Breath freezing shut.

What do we mean to each other?

One child dies of malaria, another of cancer,

A third hunches down in the closet dark.

What do we mean to each other?

Tires skitter along an icy sweep,

Steel crumples, bones break.

What do we mean to each other?

 

We are all here in this darkened theater,

Watching each other’s grief flash by.

What do we mean to each other?

 

                                Joanne McLain

                                07/21/12

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