We The Many
Who of us knows
what self awaits
in other hearts
and our own?
The spoken and
forgotten truth,
and the unsaid,
greater one.
The time has come,
the veil is lifted.
Another lives
at home.
Four riders at
the city gates,
panfolkloric
envoys of fate.
Why have they come?
And when again (as
surely they must),
and for whom?
Man
unto man
is a slavering
beast.
Time wears on,
the unseen is seen
through eyes wide shut
in repose.
Unshielded, I’m blinded
when out of the dusk
a man bearing bones
steps close.
An offering.
What part of me
draws comfort
from this?
