“Temet nosce:” a poem for today

Temet nosce

Anger is metal on the tongue,

sharp and quick to register

pain in our mind, a burn

that craves to be seen,

a danger, a fierce brightness.

You take the stage

and you are a mirror

of our own inner rage.

A voice echoing back

our own disdain for powers

that have squeezed our lives

like a threadbare dishcloth,

ringing out the water like tears

which fall to the dry earth.

The only problem is that you don’t really care

about the truth of our pain.

You toss the bread before us

like the craven emperors of old

and we lunge for it,

our tired bodies pulling you

forward in your gold chariot.

You saw the dark arithmetic 

marked with chalk on the wall,

the cold calculus that our anger

could feed your hunger for power.

Your unquenchable thirst

and our neglect of our own souls

meet in a chemical reaction–

an explosion of raw shadow.

But I want to taste true freedom,

to dip the bread of life

in the finest red wine

and feel the coolness on my lips.

I want to turn away from the shallow water

where children play war with boats.

I want to swim out far, to dive down deep

and let my body be held by

that unfathomable presence

that will heal us all.

–Stuart Higginbotham