Tibalt Was an Honest Man

Is he a bridge builder?

Not with these hands

Picking at scabs

Bare feet on shaded sand

Thinking Tibalt was an honest man

Tibalt was an honest man

Is he a priest?

Not with that past

Gazing mid distance

Eyes playing on dead cars

Thinking Tibalt was an honest man

Tibalt was an honest man

Is she a healer?

Not with those tools

Delving into hornet’s nests

Grasping for lost jewels

Tibalt was an honest man, an honest man

A man who let his hate define his speech; his commitment, his pride steer his course

Self destructive mission

A lesson, a mission walking, smoldering

A bastard who never said “I Love Peace.”