Tristan Robert Lange

Enemy

Do you have an enemy,

Or are you lucky to be free from

That tyranny of a poisoned heart

That cannot forgive from the start?

Chances are, though,

It is easy enough to see,

That more than likely you do

Have an enemy.

Next, friend,

Let’s look and see,

What creates someone

So wicked or dastardly

As your accursed and wretched

Enemy.

Might even be—heaven forbid—

A bloody frenemy?

So, what did this villain do

To warrant such a devilish distinction?

Did they think a thought that

Throttled your sensibilities?

Did they veritably vote different?

Did they dress too differently,

Talk too softly,

Boast too proudly,

Support causes you couldn’t comprehend?

Did they go by Jack instead of Jill?

Did they dress too pretty

To be playing

Upon the

Hill?

Was it that their view of God

Was too gracious than

The God given to you?

Is that then what sullied your view?

What did, in all honesty,

This enemy do

To

Cause you to open hate’s gate,

To pump the bellows,

To stoke the exacerbating

Emotions charring your

Once open and

Lively heart?

Furthermore,

Can this enemy be blamed

Anymore?

Is it this enemy

Causing you

To horrendously harbor hate within?

Is it this enemy,

Frenemy,

Or whatever you

Are sayin’ to me,

Living inside your head,

Rent free?

Isn’t the rent up to the landlord?

Cannot the tenant eventually be evicted—

Not judged or mistreated,

Just restricted?—

And I am not meaning

The enemy living free

In your head space, your own economy;

Rather, the hate,

Which arrives as a friend

With a plate,

But once we eat the dish

We find we wish

For a different fate and,

Sometimes, just sometimes,

It turns out to be a little too late.

But

I believe that it is never too late,

So long as we breathe,

To grow back love

Where there was once hate;

When that becomes

One’s resurrected state

From the death that

Would otherwise become fate,

Then freedom

Will not hesitate to recreate

Life in full and abundant ways

Throughout the rest of our days

Where love always guides

And the heart never strays—

All the rest of our days—

When we take our last breath

With the swinging of the scythe;

The master stroke of death.

“Ah! But therein,” say you,

“Lies the ultimate enemy,

“Certainly no frenemy,

“The coldest villain

Shrouded in the darkest night—

“Death, the horrid sight—

“Who comes with terrible might

‘And steals away our right

“To live!”

But,

Truthfully,

What right to life have we,

And who left us

Heir apparent to such buffoonery?

As for death—

The cessation of life—

Is death to blame,

As if death designed life?

Quite the contrary,

Life necessitated death,

And,

What a gift

From a friend

Not a frenemy,

Certainly no enemy

To those of us who wish to be free

Of dealing with a world hellbent

On teaching us to see each other

As the enemy.

Again,

Death is not an enemy

For those who long to be free

Of vying for the scraps they see

Falling through a skimpy sieve—

Death is only an enemy

For those who long to live.

© 2025 Tristan Robert Lange. All rights reserved.