by Vera Spitz
Only interesting when it is new?
Or are we all just the victims of overload,
bidding our heartaches adieu?
Passion belongs to the "newness"
when all insights are wickedly, crystal clear.
The glass has not yet lost its sparkle
from the endless sandblast of tears.
Grief that at first is deep and acute
at some point dulls to a painful ache
(that acts up on occasion when the weather blows)
like the bad healing of a regrettable break.
All deal making with God has long since ceased
as the answers were never received
to explain why an entire nation could be
so duped, so manipulated, so deceived.
Voices have slunk back into lost shadows
to lick the wounds that fester and ooze.
Bewilderment - sorrow - confusion - exhaustion,
all manner of grey-colored hues.
The generation that has been so affected
becomes cynical and very thick-skinned.
For when passions implode on the bulwark of war,
remnant dust flies away on the wind.
~
Copyright © 2009 - Vera Spitz
Published: 4/2/09 · Author's Page · Next Poem