Page 38 of 66

Posted on

Differences in grief

My friend lost a child,
a little brown-eyed girl.
The people mourned with them,
and brought flowers over,
and shared in their tears.

Every year they visit her grave
to honor her memory.

My friend lost his business,
a little grocery store.
The people called him weak,
and mocked him incessantly,
and he cried himself to sleep.

He hung himself last year;
no one brought flowers.

Posted on

Parched Pathos

I hate the color of your skin,
and the contours of your face.
My God calls them a sin,
and my pride, a disgrace.

You murdered my brother;
you’ll reap the whirlwinds.
I’ll take away your father,
your family, and friends.

I’ll find those you hold dear,
and set them all ablaze,
and the last thing they will hear
is me laughing through the haze.

And finally, for my own mirth,
I’ll even salt the very earth.

Posted on

Progress

Thunder, thunder,
raining down.
The smithy’s hammer
and burning forge
shaping iron
into blades
into mail
into war.

Thunder, thunder,
raining down.
The fact’ry hammers
and fact’ry workers
shaping steel
into ships
into tanks
into war.

Thunder, thunder,
raining down.
The assembly line
and machinery
shaping plastic
into chips
into bombs
into death.