Acid

Have we done more good things than bad things?

Have we come through times of being worse, or haven't we?

Have we built more or destroyed more?

Have we become better or just smarter?

Have we reached truths or simply grasped the convenient? -- hoarded the obvious?

Have we made beauty that shines or beauty that sits alone like a candle before the blind?

Are we growing toward the sun like trees or spreading in dark places like a cancer?

How can I lean toward the betters of these, when the worst I can imagine gets topped every day; not by select maniacs but by common men with jobs and with shoes -- with sandwiches packed for lunch?


And now, it's a trend of acid thrown in the faces of women for the slightest of reasons. Acid.

A trend, this is, not a horrific act by a rogue lunatic. It's a problem -- a problem that occurs so much that it needs legislation and laws in order to curtail it.

Be careful not to get too much on the floor, humankind. Acid burns more than just the skin of the innocent --and corroded floorboards have a tendency to give way.

What beautiful poem; what heroic act; what brave stand; what scientific cure; what sweeping melody; what gesture of kindness; what prayer for the world can make up for this?

There are some holes too deep to crawl out of; here are some hells too deep to crawl out of, after the floorboards give way.

"But I cannot choose but weep..." So spoke a victim of the more violent sex, just before her own end.

I know how she felt, being at the end -- where the tunes and the words run out...

...where the cancer grows in both shadows and sunlight.