© 2019 Orris Root

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On the Questionable Line of his Event Horizon

You find peace, a new pilgrimage, scarcity
And power. You want to punch the space
Of denseness around his newly-found softness
As if it were still the same, dense and hateful
Vindictive, hurtful wall that he built.
A target you can no longer move
Or get close to or reach or even hunt
Down because he is not even fluid enough to react
To in a less positive way, the way of natural
Selection gone out the window, protecting
Instead the weak, the unaffected, those who
Have not been hurt. The untested, the listless,
The jolly fast tremblers who think they have
It all locked up in a tight lovely package
Of a diamond wish they were sold on from birth
From first breath, from an offering by the priest
Who said yes go and god-speed with you dear
Sir this is your new world in which to conquer.
Your god-given right to be, to own to wear
To fly the flag rightly of a certain color of skin
That you knew you possessed like a memory.
This, that,, is what has afforded him so much
More than he ever deserved. This life is not
Even in the sight-line of your weapon.

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