shed a patronizing tear

An editor once attacked my poem "of fallen and falling angels" (or is it "of falling and fallen angels"? I can't keep track.) for the opening stanza:

"the shattered glass leaves fractured face
as witness to this crack'd sphere.
we place our bets on cold disgrace
and shed the patronizing tear. "

She said it was "brutal, brutish and thuggish, not to mention pessimistic". I disagree and take exception to those remarks.

In the last few days I have seen the worst in the subtle behaviours of mortals. Not murder, rape and armed robbery, but the subtler sins that are, in their own way, more vile and, by their very nature, less likely to be resolved with simple acts of contrition.

I have always had an issue with patronization. Why? It is not just the very nature of the insult when someone pretends to affections and emotions they do not have, but it is also the destabilizing effect, leaving the victim doubting the sincerity of everyone around them. Have I been guilty of this? Certainly? Have I fought, sometimes unsuccessfully, to make things right when I have caught myself at it? Yes.

To my knowledge, at this point in my llife, I am not guilty of it with anyone...but I have seen the effect on others, and I feel it against me. It is terrifying to realize that kind words have unkind meaning, or are a coward's way of retaining your good graces or favours yet to be requested.

Hypocrisy also disturbs me. People of faith often poison the well for those seeking to communicate a faith. Whether it is a friend who does not remember that we pray to God "And forgive us our sins as we forgive others..." or a President who boasts of his faith and orders men to kill and die for political bravado.

Yes, we are a debased race. I need to tuck that knowledge away and get back on my feet, remembering that the hypocrisy and evil of others is that. I need to deal with my own failings and move on.

I need to shake the dust from my sandals. Daily. This takes us back...

Back to the poem. We are tainted. We are shattered, each in our own way, and while I may have used the transpositional metaphor of a former lovers' car wreck as an element in this poem, it was not to her disgrace. She is not the cause of the system's breakdowns, she is one of the victims. We are, all.

We need to stand up and fight. Fight the toxins of insincerity, as, in the end, these are the poisons that drain us subtly. I will, with saddened purpose, recall every hypocrisy, every lie, every patronizing tear along the road. Not with vengeance and anger, but with sorrow, regret, and a prayer for the fallen and falling angels.