Tag Archives: Sacrifice

Boulevard of Despair

In May of 2013, a good friend of mine traveled to Budapest on a journey of enrichment and self-discovery. She wound up writing an interesting poem that I would like to share with you right now. As you read the poem consider the thought process she must been going through to write what she did.

I’m going to show you the complete poem the way she wrote it, then I’m going to add my rebuttals to the poem, weighing her words against the libertarian ideas that have allowed me to make Glendale, CO a great place to live, raise kids, and simply enjoy yourself.

As you read the passage and my rebuttals, what ideas come to mind? Do you agree or disagree with my rebuttals? I want to know. Leave a comment, and I’ll leave a reply.

“Boulevard of Despair”

A woman
Broken on the sidewalk
Her genetic birthright dictates

Styrofoam cup clutched between her child-sized calves
Only she is an adult
Homeless in Hungary

Buda calls from across the bridge
Pest is her home
Her eye-flame lost in eternal expectation

Casts your way

Are you the help that never comes

Behind the metal traffic box
Giving instructions to predestrians?

You wake up
For a moment, to question
Should the coin in your pocket be hers?

Walking now on cobblestones
That bled your Jewish ancestor’s blood
You stare across the street again,
Behind you the crowd crushes in
Together forgetting her bright pink dress
Collecting third hand smoke and ashes in its creases

She is one of the unseen
Waiting
For you to throw her a coin

To begin her day
The traffic light changes
You do not run across
You waltz on to your cozy B&B,
Shopping bags stowed under arm

Later your digital photos pings, downloading the moment
When she caught your eye,
And the coins rattled in your pocket, “I am hers.”
You ignored their call, and the tug for mitzvoth from your heart-voice

Did she/Does she take you for a fool?
Don’t kid yourself; you do not exist outside her cup
Or do you fool yourself,

That she is not you
Just behind that metal traffic box?

My Rebuttal:

A woman
Broken on the sidewalk
Her genetic birthright dictates

Why?  Was her failing solely geographic?  What are the chances that all of her “loving” family had expired in an attempt to save the last vestige of their lineage?  Was she the remaining survivor of a kind society now lost to individual greed?

Styrofoam cup clutched between her child-sized calves
Only she is an adult
Homeless in Hungary

Buda calls from across the bridge
Pest is her home
Her eye-flame lost in eternal expectation

Of what, your internal self loathing?  Styrofoam container for alms – symbol of the indestructible nature of hope – not hers — yours. The belief that if not for some divine intervention that could be you!  Thus denying all of your effort and sacrifice to follow your dreams, while failing more often than not, and always offering something in return – if only a smile — Never, Never, Never trading sadness and pity for money.  Her flame was extinguished not by your success and “luck” but by entire societies surrendering their dreams to the House of Safety promised by Elite Saviors commandeering your chance to fail in the name of equality!

Casts your way
Are you the help that never comes

You are the help that kills believing for a moment that you are buying beggar insurance, never knowing who she is and why this terrible fate has taken her – she is everyman surrendered — with the only freedom left – begging.  Used as an example, used as a reminder that you must never question authority, liberty is the enemy of a just society and she is the icon.  Beggars only exist in “free” societies — for once free societies fail beggars no longer serve a purpose and they are rounded-up and murdered.  The problem is that now the ranks of the beggars swell the millions! Without hope, life’s purpose becomes the greed that turns your neighbor into a spy who suckles at the office of the commissar for a gallon of petrol or a loaf of bread.

Behind the metal traffic box
Giving instructions to pedestrians?

You wake up
For a moment, to question
Should the coin in your pocket be hers?

Walking now on cobblestones
That bled your Jewish ancestor’s blood
You stare across the street again,
Behind you the crowd crushes in
Together forgetting her bright pink dress
Collecting third hand smoke and ashes in its creases

She is one of the unseen
Waiting
For you to throw her a coin

That coin in your pocket signifies the end of her day NOT THE BEGINNING and MAYBE THE END OF YOURS! 

-Mike