Bullies are the weakest kind of leaders.
You should see them staring uncertainly
into their morning mirrors, praying to gods
who only want to swallow the world.
Even if you knew how they were beaten
and ridiculed as children, it’s impossible
to feel sorry for men who put kids in cages,
who declare war on all forms of loving
unlike their own. Their love is for a world
already gone. A world in which the hand of man
snatched raw power from the ancient dead—
trees and beasts to fuel his noisy polluting jalopies.
Don’t you see, bully-man?
The world you made in your image
has failed. To Ghia, you are a worthless rag
blown in a tornado. Yesterday’s news
burning in the bright heat of wildfire Love.
The seas and stars have turned against you.
Nature’s infinite creative force has moved on.
The children are rising, called as they are
into brilliant dawn to make something new,
tugging mothers and fathers behind them.
It’s almost sad to think of what you’ll miss,
watching you slip like a fuel tanker beneath
our bright tsunami: the cities washed clean
of injustice, all of us waking in a world
where the remaining doves and sparrows
build nests from the matchstick remnants
of your impotent, forgotten anger.
Alfred Fournier
.