The muffled wails of doomed humanity,
Ghostly signatures of a world aflame;
Somewhere not far away a soldier dies,
His unborn child will know a photograph;
A field of sand, an arid oasis,
Our hopes shrunk like mountainous ice, adrift;
The whale song is sad elegy spun out,
Through black void to some ET antenna;
A hand is poised above a field of white,
The whetted quill like hungry vulture's beak;
Words are my fiddle as the world burns bright;
I imagine you to ask "Why bother?"
So that I may then reply sublimely,
"For Christ's sake, I have got to do something."
Ghostly signatures of a world aflame;
Somewhere not far away a soldier dies,
His unborn child will know a photograph;
A field of sand, an arid oasis,
Our hopes shrunk like mountainous ice, adrift;
The whale song is sad elegy spun out,
Through black void to some ET antenna;
A hand is poised above a field of white,
The whetted quill like hungry vulture's beak;
Words are my fiddle as the world burns bright;
I imagine you to ask "Why bother?"
So that I may then reply sublimely,
"For Christ's sake, I have got to do something."
1 comment:
Well done! It expresses well the exasperation of those of us who write because we don't know what else to do in response to the state of the world.
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