POETRY TIME

If we fly

So we are right

On target?

Pinpoint and surface assurance fling
mortar at night visions. Laser and satellite
satisfy our curious justifications.

So we are right

Handed; sorry softy lefties.

We pound their positions and
pound our chests with nuclear fission.
curious our fire-for-fire penetration that
excuses excess and negates meditation.

Is instinct our only recourse? Are
dog collars and leashes the releases we
approve to vent our boiling rage?

Looking at our indignation we must not
spoil our grief upon naked piles of
mere humanity. Our rage leaves them
quivering, leaves us fascinated with
revenge.

If the pot boils, it must simmer upon the
hopes of greater fire power
more exacting than our buckshot.

So we are right

wing. If we fly to Peace�s Prince
for our refuge, defend our defenseless,
rebuild our hearts into temples not our
rubble into towers
we may find we have not traded
atrocity for boorish superiority.

- Mark Phillips