For Lanza (Poem)

"Detach. Detox. McCormick wrote on his wall.

This advice he gave was sage.

To let go, but their is yet a trace,

Of judicious letters through my door,

A hole I have dug myself,

A metaphorical grave,

I need no-one.

Nothing.


The price of peace, is truth.

I wish it didn't have to be this way,

But I was brought-up, reared to say,

Only truth.


Even if I've been confused in-part,

This is merely just the start,

How it will pan-out, we just don't know,

My religious zealously of a mis-guided freak-show;


What now? Let go! Alas we cannot,

The ball is already rolling,

It's too late already,

Passed the point of no return.


We mustn't give bad press to our hallowed institution,

For it doth not deserve that collateral damage,

No-one is at fault, except ourselves;

So sayeth Lanza del Vasto,

and he ought to know,

For he was a humble Master,

Like so many prophets throughout the ages,

The philosophy of non-violence,

Taking the righteous path,

all that is true, good, and beautiful."

Max.