The Masters
Peter Howitt
1 min read·
Is there a bright line
That separates
Indifference and contempt
From the darker
Urge to exterminate?
Surely it is a journey of a thousand steps…
That leads over the
Mountains of Deceit
Down through the
Gorge of Avarice
Passing the
Plains of
Ignorance and thence
Through the well trodden
Valleys of Violence
Until we are led
To the promised
Uplit lands
(Where our failures and shame
Can be consigned to
History, which is only ever
Preserved in the dark)
At last our self-hate
Can evaporate
In the bright
Destroying sun
This must be the long
Promised place
Where we will never be
Prey again
Shalom for us, at last
Arriving we notice the others
Still in our midst
They were useful (for a while)
For cleaning and carrying and such
(When they remembered their place)
More often than not they were
Unruly mules
We tolerated them
But made sure never to spare the whip
Now their presence troubles us
Disturbing in ways we can't quite say
They are an aside
Not fully real
Not like our kind
These half-remembered
Wailing ghosts
Begging for their existence
In the valley of the ancient
Kings
Hear our roar:
We are the masters now!
The shifting desert sands
Stretched out serpentine
Whispering:
Silence
All things shall fail in time
Read Part X of Sefirah – Canto for David:
Exodus
What promise Was forgot or broken To make us so Forsaken?
Read Part VIII of Sefirah – Canto for David:
If This Is A Man
We questioned him hard, hammered him and watched him break into a thousand pieces and shards.
Further reading:
Ozymandias
Near them, on the sand, Half sunk a shattered visage lies, whose frown, And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command, Tell that its sculptor well those passions read Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things, The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed; And on the pedestal, these...
