290 and 291

I went back, back, and back again to drink

from that infernal swill that worked so well

to save me from the everlasting brink

between the hells of earth and hells of hell.

How kind and sweet and long-suffering too

that bottle of crude pure had been to me.

How charitable that bulwarking brew

continued on for years and years to be.

Until I looked outside the window once,

that usually was shut up good and tight,

and saw—the roads I knew were all false fronts

distracting me from roads that were more bright.

And then the barman closed the window fast

as God’s window adjuster shuffled past.

~~~

I stopped assuming, in the public square,

that those with whom I spoke were there to fight;

and thought it would much more true (and fair)

to think they also sought what they thought right.

I stopped assuming strangers sought my head

in plots wherever conflict could contend,

and thought they might want what is good instead,

and fierceness was their way to reach that end.

I stopped assuming that the Author chose

but one protagonist and all else false,

and thought, perhaps, He deigned not to disclose,

without permission, His characters’ faults.

I stopped assuming that they were my foes

and thought of all, instead, as the heroes.