POEM: Silver Bullets

Beware of cellars of silver bullets
Proffering too for won buys
As wear wolves clothing
In the face
Of -
Know if, and, or butt
Totally transmogrifying
In a fool moon rising
A dark knight
A bastard sun
Offering kool aid
As a final solution
A straw man choosing
Short cut
Or going long
Whether thirst or lust
The buyer be ware
As passably souled
If the prize is right

This poem is about hucksters of all sorts.  There is something about human that leaves us vulnerable to quick fixes, the proverbial “silver bullet.”  I suspect that this has a lot to do with , the to exerting effort, and a commensurately view of where if just one thing were fixed then all would be right with the world.  Impatience is a cousin of , as is the mother of all virtues.  Also, humans seem attracted to the clever, often at the expense of intelligence.  Even the apparently novel can beguile us to bypass or just plain common sense.  Wile sellers of silver bullets must be held accountable; of coarse, the buyer must be ware, willing to be sold.  A certain steeling of our souls may lead us behave shrewdly to salespeople.  Not wanting to peer a fool is often the salespersons best tool.  Exorcising as a passing fad allows us to be taken and retards us from excepting what is given.  May you be forever souled, in ways rooted in that beyond accost.

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