We Believe in Charity

We Believe in Charity

June 12, 2123: 10:33 AM

Our unit staggered through the ruins of London, covered in dirt and bloody bandages. The latest skirmish with the Earth-Isolationists had been brutal. A precision blast from a fission gun had destroyed my uniform and two good officers, and the only indication that I was the woman in charge was the unit still following me. I owed it to them to not let my injuries show or let them know that with no supplies and only a few fission weapons of our own we were open targets. We turned south out of Piccadilly Circus, taking cover behind one of the meter-high cracks caused by the bombs in the early decades of the war.

Poem: The Roar of the Greasepaint

The Roar of the Greasepaint

I love seeing people missing a true actor,

Not these Broadway Hollywood phonies

In fancy dress

And spatula makeup.

No, the true actor dances in small town streets

Along crowded boulevards,

In our own family rooms

Looking back at us from the mirror.

Take a bow, friends,

The one who wins the Tony

Is the saddest-

A round of applause!

Take a bow,

The curtain closes

And no one ever saw our face.

Poem: Church

</Church>

Long blog posts will be prayer in school,

And Facebook posts our holy communion;

Come worship at the altar of the screen

And you will receive bandwidth

And eternal battery life.

Amen.

Poem: The Tourist

The Tourist

I saw her sitting in the Empire Square,

Head down, legs crossed,

My book in her manicured hand.

She seems infinitely mysterious

And infinitely there,

A Vermeer smile crossing her lips.

Do I approach her?

Do I say-

I am the creator of the world you are in right now

I am its God

I control the seasons, the rise and fall,

The intricate necessities of life.

Do I say-

And what are you?

Who are you these children I’ve born

To these cities I’ve built,

Are you a tourist?

A resident?

Do you love them as I love them,

Do you know what they mean,

Do you expect more from me?

I say none of these things

And watch her until she gets up and walks away,

Still smiling.

So now I just know that she’s a world

And endlessly fascinated by my work.

Poem: Once

Once

Once I was kind and wise and true-

At least, so in my mind.

But I was far much younger then

And youth is often blind.

Far in the scattered sights I saw,

So deep within my mind

That I could ne’er notice when

My heart was left behind.

So now when old I sit and wait

Upon my awful throne

And I am forced to linger here

Till I am set to stone.

I look back on my once youth days

To when my light had shone

But I am dark and bitter here

My heart is left alone.