Shadow of Death

As I walk through the valley
of the shadow of death
what evil is there to fear?
‘Tis but colored air
to be changed with the sun’s rising.
Or . . . .

Creatures beneath the bed,
come to snatch the hands,
of little girls who carelessly
abandon them to the bed’s side
under cover of night.

The horrific rapist
who takes our precious trust
as he spills his seminal fluids
into his chosen receptacle.Or those
who repeat the acts over and over
to their children or others
.

The inquisitionist sharpening
his emotional knives to extract just
that bit of information more
to make his twisted imaginings
a reality even though drawn from one
who would do anything, say anything,
to make the pain stop.

For few horrors  are more potent,
then those stored in genetic memory,
merged with the weighting our days,
that enable a mind to envision
a nuclear bomb as an answer.
A politician who’s popularity is
dented by the evil coming from his lips.

Virus codes which can infect pain and death
on select populations while avoiding others,
leaving them intact, fostering legacies of discontent,
of narrow-minded bigotry and racism.

Of an exhausted, drained mother
who looks with love at her young children,
giving them everything she possesses within
for the nourishment of their souls,
while shattering her mirror
so she won’t be forced
to see her own reflection –
who has never been able to grasp
how to love herself, forgive herself,
nurture herself . . .
for doing nothing more than breathing.

How else could she walk
through the valley of the shadow of death
unless those shadows
were the echoes of her soul,
the holes in her true being,
the gaps between reason and understanding.

Down to the very acceptance of fear’s worth,
the acknowledgement of fear
as a long-time companion, and as such,
a dear friend.

As she rocks her children to sleep,
praying for their safe passage.
through their valley of shadow
to the coming of the light.

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