I love the words “to tolerate”
Ever Sardonic to the end
Yet so peevishly human
For our existence demands it presence
Thou Valor refuses its aim
As history shows its futility
We endure those who preach it
For tolerance is thought a virtue
And to be intolerant, considered a sin
yet a Tyrant counts on tolerance
For intolerance can do him in
Irony warns against it
As the tolerant rarely win
by Michael S McCown
by Michael S McCown
The sound of Silence, to breathe, to exhale; finally
Lost today, feared by those, who in silence, must reflect and
listen to their inner voice and flee it’s true reflection of their existence.
Silence, lost to the world as a virtue, now considered a sign of deceit or ambivalence.
Our inner voice, desperate to be heard, screams through the fog of constant noise only to be ignored; finding its only path to the human mind during restful sleep or through the silence offered by the mute button.
Silence brings peace to the soul,
the mind, the ears; to life
America was once a Melting Pot
A stew of many lands
The contents many, but individual
The world reflected in a pan
This Pot contained the customs
Of each culture and it’s beliefs
But no matter how hard you stirred it
The Pots’ ingredients refused to mix
Each person seemed a foreigner
Yet together in this American land
Afraid to accept the culture
Of the person, living right next to them
Even I felt like a foreigner
Though here I was born and raised
So many different cultures
All struggling to find a place
The Melting Pot began boiling
As Time had lost all patience, at Humanities refusal to bend
So Time stepped in with a blender
And then poured the Pots’ contents in
What was once a Pot of colors
Of stubborn people who won’t mix in
Is now a stirred up mixture, of
One beautiful color, living harmoniously, in a pan.
Now no one seems a foreigner, no excuse to not fit in, for we all can exist equally, in this Melting Pot of this land.
A River comes upon a Mountain. Either go over, through or around me; As a Mountain I do not care. The River cares not either, and continues on it way.
The Wind blows through a valley and comes upon a Mountain. Either go over, through or around me; As a Mountain I do not care. The Wind, like the River doesn’t care either, and continues on it’s way.
A Tiger comes upon a Mountain. Either go over, through or around me; As a Mountain I do not care. The Tiger then hurries up the Mountain, as great prey may be hidden there.
A Man comes upon a Mountain. Either go over, through or around me; As a Mountain I do not care. The Man, who sees the mountain as an obstacle, stops, and then ponders the unfairness of life, for the mountain has become a problem that is now blocking his path.
The Mountain watches with amusement, this man who curses the Mountain, complaining loudly, unwilling to yield his way.
While nearby, the Tiger watches patiently, for she knows she will eat quite well, later this very day.
Only Man sees the Mountain as an obstacle, a problem in his way. In Life, either go over, through or around; As the Mountain does not care.
Man IS his very own obstacle, making excuses, while demanding that life must be fair. But the Brave embrace the Mountain, and are thankful it is there.