The Good Heart

Ah, it's been said
so many times
the good heart is
loving and kind.
And maybe so,
yes, maybe so,
but my good heart
tells me something
tells me different.

Oh I get all Old Testament!
Mine enemies have
cometh upon me,
or some such thing,
and my good heart
feels neither loving
nor kind!

No, my good heart
wants to smash and rend flesh,
pound mine enemies
into the ground,
and laugh at their pain,
oh yes, neither
loving nor kind!

And what is worse,
I think to myself,
To lay bare the hatreds
of the angry heart,
or cover it with
phony platitudes
of compassion,
false compassion,
thinking somehow
this false stuff
will magically turn real?

No, no, the good heart,
is an honest heart, I say!
And if consumed with
the ugliest of hatreds,
let them pour forth
in all their bile,
let them be faced
and not conquered
but indulged
with highest glee!

No vengeance,
nor revenge,
but honest look,
with straight gaze,
to the heart of rage,
to see it plain.

And then what?
For hate sprung action
turns upon itself
and wounds the doer,
no, that is no fit plan
for my good heart.

No place else to go,
save deep into the
thing itself,
witnessing its contours
and evil ways,
finding the source
and using its own
strength, slay it!