Bitterness
clings to some
like a child clutching the hem
of Mother’s dress
as they walk through
deserted, razed, and filthy streets
of a forgotten war zone.
Criticism and rebukes
are the whisky and chaser
of all their verbiage.
Negativity is nectar
to their self-dissatisfaction,
disguised as humorous self-deprecation.
All within the perimeters and parameters
of their voice are never
immune or safe.
Their ever- angry gaze and weaponized words
find cracks and crevices
like a wind-driven hailstorm,
as they rewrite whole hedonistic histories
that absolve them of the impact of their
derisive decisions that affect the lives of others.
Let’s pray for them,
even as we
leave them behind.
Beyond Panic 