A poem I wrote without editing my thoughts…perhaps I should’ve

Over at the approval wall – at the overheard – at the overlook
and the overlooked, a sunset fades and twinkles dance to final
love songs, and forever laughs a throaty laugh because miracle
ripples will just not be enough to get the children of the sand to
rise against the rocks of the temple, and the verdant will
eventually turn brown.

Take the indigenous and bash their heads and strew their icons
and belongings, enter their village and burn their huts and be a
good and heartless Hun – taking to machine or smelting steel –
creating guns or swords, and go after the other, slay what is
different – enter the strangers house and tear their edifices down,
inviting the vultures in for dinner.

Do this actively or passively from behind a screen – do this as an
inactive observer, do this as a silent partner – do this as an oil
sheik or a price savvy shopper, or maybe admit that you are doing
it already – that you love your lifestyle so much, and that you do it
not because they deserve to die, but because you more deserve
to live without ever having to really change.

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3 responses to “A poem I wrote without editing my thoughts…perhaps I should’ve

  1. Did you really not edit thoughts from the poem? Or is that the title? I never assume the title is “real life,” but the reason I ask is because the creative process fascinates me.

    Stanzas 2 and 3 are very powerful. I don’t mean the first one is bad. I’m just drawn to the second and third. Wonderful work.

  2. Hello Julie,

    I really did not edit my thoughts here – this poem, unlike most of my poems more directly attacks its subject matter. Mostly I prefer to let that be the job of metaphors and my readers imagination…but I was kinda pissed off…

    Thanks for your compliment…

    Poet Man

  3. This poem swings and hits, swings and hits, uppercut, jab, jab, and then a knock-out blow to finish us off.

    “be a/good and heartless Hun” said with a bitter growl.

    Makes me feel guilty for some reason.

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