the roots of the apocalypse

The roots of the apocalypse
Lie in my heart.

Can I condemn the man
Who slakes his thirst
In others' pain?
Can I pretend
He is apart from me?
I am the victim,
And the one who
Feeds off griefs not his.

He who gives voice
To the torments
Within his broken soul,
Gives shape to
The seeds of my destruction.

I share his shame.

I cannot point the finger,
Say, in righteous tones,
"He is one who
Breaks another's spirit,
One who finds joy
In bringing others
To where his soul
In torment waits.
He is evil.
Strike him down.
Inflict him with the fate
He gives to others."

How can I point the finger?
We share a fate.
Victim and bloody murderer -
We were fathered both
By the same history.
What my brother does
I too can do.
The seeds of destroying joy
Cannot lie only in his soul.
The shadow of his deeds
Breathes form into
The deeds I have not done.

The roots of the apocalypse
Lie in my heart.

do you understand now, Mike?