This is a shrine
To the best intentions
The great redesign
For which we are the indemnitee
On foul winds
Blow dead seeds
Planting in the soil of contempt
Fertilized with the mother’s wrath
Have less fear for that which lurks in the dark
The greatest horrors
Shine brightest when exposed
To the stark light of day
Rebuke the ignorance
Of complexity
Trim the fat
Cauterize the wound
The thunderous crashing of waves
Is but the softest show of power
When compared to the tremendous swell
Just beneath the surf
When speech is forced into dark corners
Of even darker speakeasies
Cloak and dagger become the prelude
Of open destruction to come
Paradox 