Jesse's Blog

Each thing I do I rush through so I can do
something else. In such a way do the days pass—
a blend of stock car racing and the never
ending building of a gothic cathedral.
Through the windows of my speeding car, I see
all that I love falling away: books unread,
jokes untold, landscapes unvisited. And why?
What treasure do I expect in my future?
Rather it is the confusion of childhood
loping behind me, the chaos in the mind,
the failure chipping away at each success.
Glancing over my shoulder I see its shape
and so move forward, as someone in the woods
at night might hear the sound of approaching feet
and stop to listen; then, instead of silence
he hears some creature trying to be silent.
What else can he do but run? Rushing blindly
down the path, stumbling, struck in the face by sticks;
the other ever closer, yet not really
hurrying or out of breath, teasing its kill.

This poem was written by Stephen Dobyns and published in Cemetary Nights in 1987.

For me, it captures what folk who aren't managing themselves feel like.

Never forget; for all the superiority, posturing, lecturing, vitriol, hatred, fearmongering, the Left celebrated the cowardly murder of man for simply speaking his beliefs.

This is who they are; who they have always been. And if this is how they respond to people for speaking out, then we must all speak out.

Charlie Kirk was a brave man who held to his beliefs and died for them, speaking effectively, with love and conviction, and he was killed for it. It falls to us to continue his work.