by scott from jail
A flurried haste of pessimistic lies
Where all seems well, thin-lipped and non-contrite
While Wal-Mart ammunition gaily flies-
She was a Jew, politely shaking hands,
Up came the madmen now we all deplore
Off went the rounds in sounds silence demands
Down went the brain, up came the timid roar -
The verbage fast, frenetic, furious fell -
The anchormen and women all came armed
To cloak the parking lot with glowering hell
While waiting for the segment where we charm -
Is he a monster? Still, for all these guys ...
I hear Iraq is filling up with flies.
* * * * *
I loved a silken scarf upon the wind
And with each airy paw new weight was found
To melt its quills of space into the thinned
And lifeless merit of a hissing sound
Of something cold, hysteric and unreal
As if the ghosts of haunting came at night
Beside a sea of ever-shifting teal,
Of silver, gold and softly simmering light
To breathe an end, where something like a day
Brought gawked-for truth unravelled like a twine
Uncomplicated as the crumpled clay
From soldiers boots or lover's sipped-for wine -
But that's the end. Enough of unasked lie -
Enough of these and all their clanging why.
~
Copyright © 2011 - scott from jail
Published: 2/3/11 · Author's Page · Next Poem