The Good Dream

On Colombia

One of the joys of living
Must be
To crack things that are whole
And to push over
The tall things we have built,
Watching them
Break
Shatter
Into the smallness of themselves.
Do we feel stronger
In chaos?
Perhaps it is the false purpose,
The lightning licked
Sense of self
That we seek
When we give in to our
Death drive
And end things we’ve begun.

But then,
There is also
Some quiet motif
That there are those who
Stubbornly
Hold fast to the light,
And to the creation
Of beautiful things.

Shaking hands in white shirts,
Their
Obstinate fingers lacing quietly
Over the mouth of history,
Bidding it be silent
A moment,
Men promised a nation
Half punch drunk from too much
War and solitude
A morning of peace.
And perhaps it is merely
Shadows performing their macabre dance
Like peace usually is–
Perhaps it is a dream.
But in its unobtrusive hope
Let it be;
It is a good dream.

© K Paige Medina 9/27/2016

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