“We know what we have done and what we have said,
and how we have grown, degree by slow degree,
believing ourselves toward all we have tried to become—
just and compassionate, equal, able, and free.”
Do not mistake, this is a love story
where integrity met common sordidness.
It’s a story insisting our tattered maps be set down
to hear our own lostness amongst the glaring
light where Taibbi’s focus and Fleischmann’s experience
roll through press’d shows n’ sheets, a climaxed bed
at once suspected and shunned, knowing what wasn’t, is not.
This aged skin of currency’s visage, economically stretched
a Joker’s grinning lips taunting, “Is history maligned? Is hope dead?”
We know what we have done and what we have said.
Some roll over to snore, others cry to the sky, ‘What do I do now
as Gotham crumbles and my own home is burning?’
This journalist has charged forth on Arthur’s white horse,
our Shero has been heard, her cross is now visible to all.
Yet you and I, why have we chosen to stand without foothold
in a space that is neither legend, cartoon, nor land of the free?
Hear me now: this failure brings us to a hallowed questing field,
a valley as responsive to magic, as it is fluent in myth.
Now is the time. Admit: our shadow desires transparency,
and, how we have grown, degree by slow degree
craving introduction to that which endures –
something beyond this nurturing of inner aristocracy
and all that perpetuates democracy’s demolition.
Come, occupy this mystical valley with me. Fold mind into heart
and raise a ragged voice to sing with the freedom
of nothing to lose, the expression of one who chooses to succumb,
surrendering fear of statistics, of apathy and righteous prognosticators
to listen for, interpret, and give voice to one’s own holy signal
that it might be broadcast toward a magical sum.
Believing ourselves toward all we have tried to become:
Creator, destroyer and healer
the loved and lover, the despised evil-doer,
the victim, the knight and the heroine,
has revealed truth in all that was and wasn’t.
Choose. Be the magic, the magician and the miracle.
Be your heart’s song now echoing back, endowing this valley
with sacred, worthwhile and valuable creative acts.
The truth of our history and this moment’s loss of hope
requires but one love song. Yours. Sing a renewed world, wildly
just and compassionate, equal, able, and free.
© Lori Fleming, 2014