A Capital Idea

Chilly, a little,
For skin in light clothes,
And thoughts try to shake

Off their colder kin,
The finer ideas
That lead to torment,

To wars and tortures
That help ideas win.
The finer ideas

Don’t mean to be cruel,
Aren’t puppetmasters,
But except when linked

To your worst instincts
And harnessing them,
A fine idea can’t,

Right or wrong, begin
To get real traction.
Name big religions,

Ideologies,
Or theories didn’t
Blossom partly thanks

To some cruelty
Unnecessary
To belief in them.

It’s getting to be
Evening and chilly.
It’s time to go in.