To the healers of my generation,
I write to you in desperation.
Look up for a single moment
and hear my simple words,
set down the potential scalpel
dry your hands of today's disease
and head my plea.
We are dying, slowly,
you and I.
Not the death of coronary disease
or pleuripotent oncology.
But the death of ignorance
and apolitical idiocracy.
Our country of great wealth
with its fantastic drive to technological healing
has forgotten our brothers and sisters
whose lives were destroyed at the hands
of mother nature.
The flooded south has not dried out,
the disease and death in the Big Easy has not ended,
and yet somehow we have been led to believe
that the great fight of this decade
should be waged with weapons and military might
rather than with our healing hands and minds.
Our brothers are falling into deaths grasp
at their own hands,
as despair and continuing hopelessness
suffocate an entire people.
We have blindly followed the media:
led like the pied piper's rats to the sewers
of misdirection and political spin,
away from the true domestic catastrophe of our nation.
We have been trained to bask in the
political glow of September
salivating like a Pavlovian hound
at the glowing box of political gruel.
Heed this suicide note,
bearing witness to the jaded reality
that we have been force fed for too long,
and take action to speak out to our fellow healers
about the travesty continuing
in this greatest nation of dictatorships.
I beg you my colleagues,
my intellectual connoisseurs of evidenced based living,
to turn your sights to the forgotten souls
in the South.
