1/16/11

Why does the most affecting cruelty,

Seem to originate from innocence?

Why do the slings and deepest injuries,

Appear to have no aim or ill intent?

How can an action so innocuous,

Elicit such enduring misery?

What is the phantom hand that masters us,

And turns our tongues to harm where none was meant?

Why is so seldom there a second thought,

That cautions lips to close and wait their turn,

Before an unintended wound is wrought,

Before the tinder pile begins to burn?

Assassins show their axe before we die.

This kindness, conversation won’t abide.