Sad little miss little Sally Conformity
So afraid to offend; to stop and take a stand
Spineless, gutless, cannot draw the moral bead
Will side with the snipers, hiding in their nest

Sad little sick little Sally Conformity
In your quest to not offend, you offend, and greatly
You lacquer your subservience with a veneer of civility
And place yourself in the middle until it’s time to choose sides

Sad little lickspittle Sally Conformity
Shining the jackboots ’til your mouth’s almost dry
Wagging your tongue, counseling the reasonable to “have reason”
Shove that tongue back in your asp.

Sad little poor little Sally Conformity
You betray honor and nobility and that to survive
You shall not be punished but your rewards will wear thin
You may find collaboration to be comfortable… so go and have comfort!

But do not pretend that what you do is noble… civil… right… good… honorable… just.

You do not project what you can see
It is when knowing is worse than not knowing
  that you impute to the world
    that which you hate and fear
      deep
      deep
      down.

When The World is filled with devils
  it is but our souls that take on the
    forms of daemons and ghouls
  ready to make a timeless torment
    ever waking, eternal.

When Rejection is feared at every turn
  and you do not approach for fear of the same
    it is you who reject
  but blame those who have not even
    yet spoken.

When a life after death seems a bliss
  it is a sign that death has already come
    and the bedraggled corpse toting your
  suffering mind from point to point
    is merely waiting to descend to oblivion.

When a Mighty Power can make All Things Right
  if we but entreat and plead to It...
    are we not that power, holding
  dominion over our populace, withholding the
    drops that would slake their thirst?

We ask, Who watches the watchers?
  But who are the watchers?
    They are not eyes disembodied except
  that they are eyes that do not recognize
    the body.

An eye, flaming, unblinking, on a stem, in a far-off land
  A watcher... a bringer of death and darkness.
    Disembodied for centuries, almost timeless.

One can only pray for death if one has murdered.

A thick layer of
  dust
coats every surface

As time grows on
  it
slowly layers down

Occasional fingerprints
  where
the same hand grips the same spot

Never changing
  except
frailty and weakness set in

Snapshots through time
  fade
as years drag on by

The dust piles deep and
  chokes
when disturbed.

rain goes “splat”
crickets chirp
cicadas buzz

candle on the head flickers

all snug in
can’t fall asleep
not tired
not tired

thinking about tomorrow
as if it were the past

playing today over and over again

who locked my mind away
who holds the key

who set up those barriers
before me

why must i now struggle
against myself

when all i wanted to do
was live

why must i fight
a thousand battles
just to gain an inch
of ground?

who shut the door
and why?

and as the rain falls
my tears collect

but drop they do not
as the sky weeps for me

it gets dark so early
we’re losing light so fast
it’s this time that’s
always been most dangerous

it is now and no time before that
my test comes in full

but i will pass it.

The most dangerous thing is the action
  in the most dangerous time.

Love is dangerous.

  It can make,

    but it can render hopeless.

Love is so powerful,
  "Love is as strong as death," they say.
 Could a love that powerful, that strong,
   exist in my heart, so estranged?

I *know* I have loved her, I *know* I love her.
  Is she going to love me?

  Do I need to fight to keep her, or
    do I need to fight just to get her?

Dangerous times, desperation clamours in
    my head...

My tongue lost its dexterity when
  I looked into her eyes.

  I wanted to keep looking, but
    for some reason I couldn't.

I wanted to burst out with a declaration.

  How dangerous these feelings are, strong and powerful.
    They would undo me, given half of half of half a chance.

Nothing binds tighter than blood,
  so they say.

But what binds a blood relative to another
  except that they share microscopic resemblances?
'Tis the love of the family.

Well, my family...
You see, my family...

...my
      family...?

I don't know what a family is, not really.
I can't go home--I feel out of place there.
I can't ignore--I do want to keep in touch.

Is a family rich?
Is a family poor?
Is a family wealthy?
Is a family destitute?
Is a family black?
Is a family white?
Is a family in-between?
Is a family on the fringe?
Is a family lukewarm?
Is a family hot?
Is a family cold?
Is a family loving?
Is a family abusive?

A family is none of those things.

Heaven help me if I know what it is, though.

Why is it that I feel lost?
I am marooned in the darkness, gasping for breath on a piece
    of driftwood in the storm.
I feel abandoned and not worth finding.
Just lying there, no energy to move, waiting to be found.
    Or to die.

Would I have wings, I would fly without care and totally
    free.
I could glide by the clouds, pitch toward the sun and
    the earth, faster than lightening.
Yet, with wings, I could not fly all the time, there must
    be periods of rest.
With this rest would come thought, thoughts of loneliness.
I would be horribly different.
I don't want wings.

Past is darkness.  Shrouded by memory.
  Bring to light, illuminate.
    See what it was that destroyed you.
  Look full upon your destroyer
    and fear him not.
        fear her not.

The destroyer is not the afflictor.
You may be run through and not lose hope.
Yet still even find joy in sorrow
                    gladness in suffering
                    peace in pain.

The destroyer cannot hold his prey
  the master will not allow it.
The destroyer cannot annihilate
  we will rise again.

And we will rise.
And we will rise.
And we will rise!

Rise, raise, risen!
  Every day and evermore.
Like the phoenix from its ashes
  So rise we from the field.

Flaming, blazing, streaking, flying
  to and from ourselves and God
Take the time to consider
  the state.

Regard the destroyer
  and let us laugh.
He can do no harm
  that is everlasting.

Lo, the destroyer is pinned to his pit,
  she cannot escape.
He is bound to eternity
  she will stay there forever.

I was still pretty Christian-y when I wrote this, as you can see from some of the imagery.

I don’t know exactly where I was mentally when I wrote this, but this was my fall semester of my 4th year of college, and I barely made it out of two classes with Ds instead of Fs. I was very depressed and was becoming increasingly suicidal.

I don’t know what else to tell you about the poem except that I knew at the time (and also know now) that I was not writing about “the Devil.”

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