Now, in the hushed violet light after the storm

I tremble to see the army of death’s heads still shouting.

Waving flags from disgraced history.

Brandishing weapons, old and new,

with which to butcher our foundation.  

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There’s nothing romantic about insurrection;

it’s a savage business conducted by the damaged,

hollow lovers of battle and blood

who’ve kidnapped Jesus, holding him hostage

to destruction as if theirs is a holy war.

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They fight not in the name of freedom, but in

enslavement to evils we defeated lifetimes ago.

Thought buried forever. Their resurrection is

a wake-up call to complacency. There’s no margin

for comfort, no vacation from vigilance.

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If we are to preserve the truth we claim to hold self-evident,

that all of us – regardless of gender, color, age and any other

differences – are equal in our common humanity, somehow

we must find the strength, the grace and the words to overcome

the tyranny of hatred to preserve our glorious experiment