Innocence

Innocence is like an open door:
Not safe, but requisite to being free.
Darlings of our rhetoric, we wonder,
Evil as the rest but for our words.
Perhaps we are insatiable for more,
Each dreaming of what pleasures there might be,
Needing, in the passion of our plunder,
Delights that drive the destinies of Kurds.
Even so, the freedom we are for
Now stands for all a common legacy,
Called forth by masters tearing worlds asunder,
Embraced by slaves consumed with righteous hunger,
Destined to undo those whom it serves.
All innocents must venture out to sea,
Yearning for an ever-distant shore.