Why Your Cities Burn
“Because the heavy fist of terror was always there in your pocket even when you smiled. Because you went forth to battle beneath the shameful flag of compromise and played The Battle Hymn of the Republic but never John Brown’s Body.”
The Tragic Prelude by John Steuart Curry, Public Domain Image
Because you turned your face away from the stubborn goat of memory and let it eat every scrap of growing leaf until there was nothing here but an empty lot.
Because you have wandered the obscure forest of guilt with open hands and a shame-faced friendliness.
Because you painted the colorful gazebo of hope with such a shallow joy.
Because the heavy fist of terror was always there in your pocket even when you smiled.
Because you went forth to battle beneath the shameful flag of compromise and played The Battle Hymn of the Republic but never John Brown’s Body.
Because you failed, with the soft feather of sentiment, to bind the bullets or to block the blood.
Because the lonely stairway of courage remained unilluminated, because no foot fell.
Because, in the deceptive swamp of flattery, you bound your better self, you drowned your dream.
Because you mistook the solitary tree of enlightenment for a mere decoration, a way to change your station, a crown of thorns.
Because you silenced the drunken witch of exuberance to stop her laughter, which disturbed your sleep.
Because of the company you keep.
Christopher Scott Thompson
Photo by Tam Hutchison.
is an anarchist, martial arts instructor, and devotee of Brighid and Macha.
