Unless I Am Mistaken

Unless I am mistaken
(I don’t believe I am) –
I never have forsaken
the lion for the lamb.

Serenity’s alluring –
of that there’s little doubt –
but when it means procuring
a mindless exit out

in favor of a numbing
and stifling mental fleece,
I can’t desist from thumbing
my (snorting) nose at “peace.”

Births are bloody actions!
Passivity instead
of forcible contractions
will bear the baby dead.

Let’s dive right into fighting –
no inauthentic hug!
But what might I be slighting?
I’m sounding rather smug:

pacificism has its place –
doth I protest too much? –
who isn’t yearning for the grace
of someone’s tender touch?

A little quiet might be nice:
be wallflow’r, not a ham –
No need to overdo the spice:
drop lion, opt for lamb.

But now I’m feeling half-asleep –
perhaps I always do:
no policy runs very deep –
I’m always in a stew.

Unless I am mistaken
(and possibly I was) –
I’ll never quite awaken
to absolutes. Who does?


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