Indelicate Delicacy

There is barely satisfaction,
Let alone joy,
In lowering the boom, tightening the screws,
Herding a wayward flock of one
Into its psychic pen,
From there, perhaps,
Into the abattoir to meet the demise
Of its insanely irresponsible ego.
A shame, it seems,
That strength cannot be coaxed out of dissolution
Without the brutal hammerhead of Rule,
That life must always court adversity,
And necessity must drive it to the brink.

Reviews

[Ngawang Tibet]

Love the title! The poem is beautifully interpreted.