sentinel III

Lately I have noticed
how people place sentinels in front of their words.

Many do not move themselves
to regard your unpopular view,
but rather, fix their sights on words
Suddenly unguarded.

Loose threads hang off my own,
Offending threads on unfinished edges
that require urgent pruning before I may clear my name.

(Why are things not more True?
Correct and True are not the same.)

Strange, though,
That I should need to measure my words, daily, with the greatest precision,
Percolate them until no more coarseness exists,
Without further hint of ambiguity,
To keep alive some popular refrain.

(Why are things not more True?
Correct and True are not the same.)

Truth moves stagnantly,
amid a virulence of lies
It’s never as interesting, is it?

How is it,
that without these sentinels I keep,
my words might be commandeered
and bent to win a different game?

(Why are things not more True?
Correct and True are not the same.)

Evening and I’m home, alone, unheard, the sentries dismissed
I’m patrolling the words I shaped that day
Some made unrecognizable
superimposed onto pain.

(Why are things not more True?
Correct and True are not the same.)

See the sentinels guarding others’ words
See how you, too, might’ve made them
your own.

cristian-newman-468917-unsplash.jpg

Your life feels like an audience of one
one will not hurt you
criticize you
burst you
one will not shrink you
humble you, like they probably need to.

Don’t tell others what you’re doing
or plan to do.
That way, you are answerable to no one
if you fail.

Your life is a supervised injection site,
a safe-space of confirmation
of do no harm (primum non nocere)
where we practice ego hygiene together
and echoes are the only answers.

-jules