The Imbalance.
One side with rigid spine of scientific belligerence and calculated social sense.
The other with porous , pious skin, where idealic fairy tales seep in .
One standing there looking on in horror at the hair
of another girl lying there.
Matted blood and woven lace, upon a Romanov face.
The other weeping over what they end up sweeping
from the street, the wretched prints of bloodied feet.
Hypatia dead, no more words said , now only mangled meat.
Each side, alone, is monstrous . Each side, alone, a virus.
What Mother Earth is shivering from
as raging fever’s also come.
This is her illness. This is her true disease.
If saving her is your true wish, then this is the true unease.
The Imbalance.
This refusal of Science and Religion to work in a shared direction.
The Imbalance.
This wicked plague which consumes us as she suffers this infection.
photo By VERSUSstudio
poem by Ramsy
Ramsy's Joint 