Distillation

The last poem I am likely to write which is work-related in regards to the Humane Society of Santa Clara Valley, simply because a few days before writing, my entire department, barring myself, was fired or forced to quit. Nor were they for good or consistent reasons, with the exception of one who was in trouble before. These people were my friends, they cared for the animals, they were knowledgable, and some of the hardest workers I have ever known. At the time of writing, I did not think I would last too much longer, if the Powers That Be had their way. I was right. After a little over two years, my last day was January 14, 2003, and I have never been so sorry to leave a job behind, or so angry and glad to leave behind the people I worked for. This was my attempt to warn them, but like all other attempts, it was not given any weight.

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Distillation
Break it down to the smallest parts,
break it down to the bottom.
The foundation rises to those on high,
but rock doesn’t move, regardless of perception.
See it approaching, closer now.
Watch the sinking that occurs with attrition.

Questionable alchemy,
this reduction of self and others.
The bedrock erodes and supports crumble.
Bit by bit,
stone by stone,
feel the wobble beneath your feet.

See the changes made in the chemistry
of the heart. The mind. The spirit.
See it echoed in the hand.
Hear it reflected in the voice.
Try and peek through
the shuttered windows of eyes.

Worry less about remaking in your own image,
what was there and working to begin with.
Worry more about inner perceptions
than about outside ones.
Worry less about appearances than fact.
Determine which side to be on and stay there.

Side to side, truth and ignorance.
Defend the latter, punish honesty.
Reduce it, confuse it,
run it around until frustration overcomes.
Enough of that will see anyone give in.
At least… to appearances.

Appearances, are after all, paramount.
Go underground.
See things from the bottom up.
Dissatisfaction on such a scale
should alarm. But won't.
Contradictions and 'exceptions' abound.

Hypocrisy and sidelong dealings
go hand in hand with humoring the irate.
And when the confusion and anger of the lonely
reach a peak – spark it, prod it, force it.
Push all the right buttons at the wrong time,
then take the high ground and pretend to morality.

Demand respect and give none.
Change it all and at once.
Do not listen to those you brought in
to do the very thing you take into hand.
Bring in those who surrounded you elsewhere,
and to blazes with the ones already present.

These are the ways to follow, it seems.
Back up your highborn fellows and sneer at the outrage
of the alone and the bystander.
Circles touch.
Watch you don’t find yourself
biting off your own noses.

But warnings are too late.
Or go unheeded.
Such is the way of the empire.
Without disregard, none would rise.
Or fall.
Limestone dissolved and built by water.

Destruction often begets creation.
Bigger, better, grander.
Like formations in a cave below the surface.
However, destruction can also bring the same.
Sift the rubble and ruin for gems,
find only ashes and brittle bone.

Bitter on the tongue, this taste.
Heavy on the shoulders.
Smiles banished, laughter slain,
joy transmuted to distrust and nervousness.
The long-tailed cat afraid for its life
and despairing of escaping whole.

Would that some Stone could turn
grey iron of the soul into gold again.
And yet,
balms only remain effective so long.
A wound reopened again and again,
should cause no surprise when it scars.