Tuesday

An applecart looks stable.
Two posts descend
From its side poles
To rest upon the ground
In balance with the running wheels
Beneath the load.
But it’s a fragile
Frail solidity.
Too great a weight
Upon the bed behind the wheels –
“Do not sit there, sir!” –
And we’ve upset the applecart.
The joint where posts
And side poles meet
Is hard to reinforce.
Too great a force,
Particularly at an angle,
And the fasteners will fail,
The poles will fall,
The apples topple to the ground
And roll in avalanche
Accelerating down the slope
To spill pedestrians below.

The city Jesus entered was an applecart,
Its frail stability
Obscure to many,
Painfully apparent to the ones
Who had their hands
Upon its pulling rails.
Apples plunging down its
Steep and stony slopes
Would fell the people
And the promise
Of a nation. 

The stakes are high.
The situation perilous.
In times like these,
One must do what one must
To keep those apples balanced,
Keep the fragile posts of peace
From breaking.

Do what one must.
What one must.
One must.

Anything one must.

The end: It justifies the means.

Doesn’t it?

And thus are innocents betrayed.
And thus are innocents condemned. 

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