There are no open hands

There are no open hands

They were always closed fists

Even without gloves

No welcome was ever freely given

Freedom was never truly won

We are all prisoners of conscience

At the mercy of those who have none

The streets are streaked with the blood

Of newborns

Youngbloods and greybeards

Old souls fly in a vanguard

Of philosophers in search of humanity

Trying it out for meaning

Discovering new ways of explaining

The same thing

When explored dispassionately

Understanding always comes

After the fact

Nobody heeds a warning

If it involves a short-term loss

Everyone has a shareholding

In something

All things material

It is the shape of the world

Pick-up lines are not the sole property

Of lounge lizards wearing second-hand epithets

Despots and presidents

Know a thing or two about insincerity

They wear bumper stickers that make me smile

When they pout their faces into kisses

They empty the truth of themselves

Out, if only for a minute

Recalcitrant children screaming the house down

Tearing at the walls

In a greedy need to feed

Freeze the frame and watch it back

Study it in class

In retrospect

It is easy to see the emptiness

In the eyes

It cannot be disguised,

Dictators wear dark-gasses

Like rockstars, even indoors, in the dark

With the lights out

When they wake up in bed

Carrying them at all times, in a go-to bag

Never to be caught without them

In a steam bath

Or eating breakfast

Even dentists use them

Psychopaths don’t need them

As their eyes never change

From one outrage to the next

How did we lose sight of that,

Before the end

Stole so many Millenials' chance

Of a new beginning