“Alas, good friend, what profit can you see
In hating such a hateless thing as me?
There is no sport in hate where all the rage
Is on one side. In vain would you assuage
Your frowns upon an unresisting smile,
In which not even contempt lurks, to beguile
Your heart, by some faint sympathy of hate.”
From “Sonnet”, Percy Bysshe Shelley,
But that’s an ideal, of course. I’m not sure that I don’t hate that man, but he isn’t to be remembered. The beautiful, blazing lives blasted apart by hate because of who they love, are to be remembered and mourned.
A lovely verse, and perfect tribute to the fallen.
I started writing my own, and realised that I was either going to be sententious, or just bloody-minded angry.
Just now I don’t deal well, for example, with people who declare that they’re “praying for the victims and their families”. Prayer helped to lead to and enable those murders. Gay clubs are supposed to be a sanctuary from many of the people who pray.
Nor am I good with people who refuse to grant gays and lesbians equal rights, but suddenly pretend to care about their humanity when the cultural effects of their own homophobia become too horrific to deny.
Nor with the good liberals who insist that it has nothing to do with religion.
Anyway, there are things that could be said on those lines. But later. Right now I just feel sad and sick.
Thank you, Mr Shelley.