A figure slumped beside the road, a heap of ash and thread. No face, no shape, just heavy cloth, and eyes that looked half-dead. “Who are you?” asked the wrinkled one, with voice both calm and kind. “I’m Sadness,” said the shape, half-formed, “the one all try to bind.” “They turn from me,” the figure said, “as if I bring disease. They smile too wide, deny the weight, pretending th...

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In The Fury of the Fragile, the clash between compassion and cruelty takes center stage. Inspired by Rev. Megan Budde’s call for mercy and Donald Trump’s harsh dismissal of it, this poem wants to explore the tension between empathy and rage. It paints a portrait of a leader who wields words as weapons but crumbles when confronted with the very kindness he scorns.

Budde called for mercy, kindn...

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Beneath the aching winter’s shroud,

A child walked mute through the bustling crowd.

Her feet, bare whispers on the frozen stone,

Her ribs a harp of hunger’s tone.

 

She carried a box, her treasure, her thread

Of tiny star-sticks, sulfur-fed.

She called to the rich, the hurried, the gray,

“Buy one, kind sir, and light your way.”

 

But no one paused, no coin was tossed,

...

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