A line is crossed.
A line is crossed, unnoticed by command
But photographed in fame’s amoral flash.
Bodies piled, trophy game atop which rests
One boot; smiles of shy surprise, unabashed.
Another line and wilderness surrounds
Us, humid aisles where everything’s displayed.
Conscripted to absolve our choices God
Deserts to find a new identity.
We bushwhack through thick scrub, directionless;
The way’s degraded, markers overgrown.
Where filthy water swamps the lowest place
We lost crusaders kneel, and choke it down.
“Just Cause” reprinted with permission from Deniability: Poems, © 2008 George Witte, published by Orchises Press, www.georgewitte.net.
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Growing up on Star Island
Looking back on my summers spent at a beloved Unitarian Universalist retreat.
We cannot hear unless there is silence.