Tethered

One more fiber of the rope 
tethering us together has been cut.

Now it has been severed to the point
that either one of us may completely
drift away at any given time.

I would reach for your hand to keep me afloat,
but sadly it has not been present for quite some time.

Yet maybe instead of drowning in these desolate depths without you I will finally learn to fly.

Why should I continue counting on you and your cold constraints when I no longer care to be grounded?

The Geese

Today I caught sight of the geese 
flying in a v-formation flock above my head.

I had forgotten how they do that.

How they have learned to fly together in such a perfectly, imperfect point of direction.
In such a linear, similar way.

I felt sadness at first and caught myself grimacing.
The last time I'd witnessed their well-structured flight it had been nearing winter.

But then I reminded myself that they were simply returning for spring.

So I remembered to smile.

Front Door

Your childhood home has new owners, 
but the front door is still the same.

I wonder if they like the way the lock sounds
as it clicks into place like you did.
Or if they've become curious about why the left bottom panel's paint is peeled in such a peculiar place.

Maybe they'll replace it this summer
when the weather is nicer.

Or maybe I should compliment
their door so they don't.

Hatred

Hatred feeds on fear and fractured crowds as it crowns the loudest liar king. 

Inward thoughts become outward words,
small stances of oppression shift into violence, and power-hungry predators spew repugnant propaganda.

Repulsive rhetoric convinces the world's worst to sharpen their weapons and raise them against their neighbors.

As if they were animals...
As if they were inhuman.

Hatred is an otherworldly beast.