Image for the poem Sacred Contracts XL:  The Anatomy of Hate

Sacred Contracts XL:  The Anatomy of Hate

Lay it Down          
Warrior—the weight          
  of that  sword and shield;          
don't you find them heavy—          
particularly when no battle is raging          
despite what personal perception reveals;          
  or, how the veins in your wrists          
  throb from your mind’s eye          
  under the scars          
of self-inflicted wounds            
Release it          
  that self-appointed penance of past;          
the burden is back-bending—          
its weight a fungi swelling against          
  your blood's          
  production of cells—          
masticating body and spirit          
  into a fatal disease of existence            
  that rusted armour of doubt          
What inevitable war do you envision          
prompting it be worn each moment—          
  preventing communion with peace          
  among those sharing your space;          
what threat do you possibly perceive          
  warranting defensive measures          
versus live and let live          
Coats of Many Arms          
mask our feral nature;          
  but, we all have the same menu          
  from a numbered buffet of choices—          
some of the poorest in material cloth          
  seem the most content in living;          
patches they've stitched are gratitude—          
  things that can never be taken away          
only relinquished through death;          
  even then, there is no separation          
  just a return to our genetic composition          
of Love          
Others with cashmere or silk lapels          
appear miserable, grasping            
  onto what cannot be owned          
  for fear of falling, exposed          
  from their castle of clouds—          
a self-made Icarus, plummeting          
  naked in broad daylight;          
their mask exposed              
How do we become          
  what we are not          
and so easily forget          
  our spirit's purpose—          
all the peace and acceptance          
  we are born with, just waiting          
  to be resuscitated—          
  rise from their bitter grave of flesh          
How do we become so afraid          
  to love, and be loved in return—          
opening ourselves fully          
to commitment, security          
  without thought of losing control          
  over what was never ours          
  to own—or measuring ourselves          
against our neighbor's          
  accomplishments, looks, possessions          
What is the triggered-curse          
  of consumerism—to have, to be, to want;          
and, the secret to break its code          
  for future generations—          
how do we unwind what cruelty          
  crocheted into the womb of society          
Sand falls through our hourglass—          
  a childhood playground          
  where parents sit in the outer circle          
while children of all creeds and colors          
  play openly together          
What was there to distrust back then;          
  or, evil so apparent          
  it had to be avoided at all costs—          
including genuine friendship;          
  how do we become separate          
  from everyone else . . .          
What gravity of race or creed          
  differing from our own          
  are we supposed to hate—          
initiate evasive maneuvers          
  or worse—allow jealousy          
  to overcome our purpose;          
thus, plot to tear asunder          
  through intents so malicious          
 it drives many to suicide          
Hating has become a societal norm—          
  the roller-coaster of news          
  a daily disaster—          
the wild ride anything but fun          
Politicians symbolize public distrust;          
but, we fuel hate by legitimizing attacks          
  through our divisive behavior;          
we use our intellect not for good          
  but to prove each other wrong—          
those who think differently          
automatically become our enemies          
Life becomes a survival strategy          
of forming factions—          
  separating friends from foes          
  rather than enjoying          
  what it offers together:          
Iron sharpening Iron—            
  the contrast of undesired          
 honing who we are            
Can we unravel the cassette          
of pain entwined around each person          
   filled with resentment toward life—          
   the taut bondage binding hope          
   from happiness buried so deep          
Yet, waiting to reemerge            
How much of ourselves          
  are we willing to sacrifice          
for another human being—          
  our lives, perhaps;          
is this the true parable          
  of the crucifixion:            
the weight of what we offer another          
  measured in increments          
from our own painful experience—          
  yet, painful triggers offset          
  our good intentions—          
  and we pause in our work;          
going only as far as our own          
  bruises carry us, ceasing inside the hurt          
before fully abandoning our task          
Hatred is a software update—          
  it comes by default;          
but, you can fully reject it;            
it stems from the dirt            
  of each person believing          
  their own ideology is truth;          
they reject ethnicity because              
  their own kind are superior;          
they detest an opinion because          
  they personally know better          
However, personal perception          
  is not a universal truth;          
we are blinded by our beliefs          
  in ignorance—          
that alone is why we hate          
But, inherent goodness—          
  as difficult as it may be to digest          
  is our true human essence            
Oftentimes hatred is personal—          
  a social game where people recruit          
  others to hate based on rumours          
versus personal experiences;          
  enter hierarchies and cliques          
Manipulators, leaders, and politicians          
know how to play mob mentality—          
  in biblical days they riled up women          
  to unite enemies for a cause—          
much hasn't changed in that respect          
Having a common enemy          
is how hatred evolves—          
   ‘them’ versus ‘us’          
    because we’ve been taught          
    attacking first is the way to survive          
This is how people hate:          
  they believe destroying someone else’s          
  reputation first will elevate their own;          
however, three things          
  cannot be long hidden:          
  the sun, the moon, and the truth
Knowledge is power—          
   the key to defeating hate;          
recognition is the lock          
We are all kindred—          
  of African descent          
we share the gene pool          
  of Homo sapien origin          
There is no 'us' or 'them';          
  there is only one 'we'—          
   a human species          
attempting to escape our planet          
  rather than rebalance—          
reverse injustice toward Earth—          
the preference for profit over life          
Ego is a death-trap  
  we all learn to escape—   
often times the hard way     
So, before it's too late  
  and this life is gone—
  lay it down          
Warrior—the weight            
  of that sword and shield          
  you needlessly wield;          
pick up a mirror instead—          
because the only righteous hatred          
   you should rage against—          
   the only war that truly exists          
is the ignorance within yourself          
The only coat of arms you own          
  should be hanging on your wall—          
not as a battle call, but reminder          
  of how far we've evolved          
Release it          
  the jabs you take      
  merely boomerang;
haven't you learned that yet       
Warrior—let it go          
Propio vos sanguine pasco—          
  I feed you with kindred blood          
Author's Note
For highlyfunctional's 'An Epic Competition': 999 words (title inclusive )
Quote attribution: Buddha
Propio vos sanguine pasco...
For highlyfunctional's 'An Epic Competition': 999 words (title inclusive )
Quote attribution: Buddha
Propio vos sanguine pasco - Cantrell ( Quantrell ) Family motto
Image - Family Crest descended from Norman nobility.
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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