There's something running through us all
between the empathy and gall:
a nerve that binds us trembling,
which throws down tyrants posed as kings
and reaches deepest things in us
we didn't know were there, but trust
as soon as we feel jolts all through.
It slumbered there inside of you,
but now we're woke, or speak aroused
against each other's turned-out crowds.
The animal inside is freed: you will believe,
or else you'll bleed. There lies between
within us all a cord that binds. We fear the fall
or rush the edge of cliffs unknown: what lies
beyond? Just wreck and moan of flesh and blood
and nerve and gall. If we could pause
before the plunge, we might
find something tugs us back. It's more
than white, and more than black, and more
than male and female, too. Or I am wrong, and it
was never inside you.
But I'm not wrong.
You'll feel it soon, or yet, or now
but it's too strong
to disallow.
It's in us deeper than divides.
If all of us could kill ourselves,
then maybe we could save our lives.
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