451
a poem
I don’t follow the news, really. Like a “good” millennial I watch it in one minute bites on Instagram. And I really don’t speak about things I see on the news publicly because no matter where I go online, I feel I just find new echo chambers. These conversations are best had face to face. If we’re going to spit at one another, might as well see the whites of our eyes (though, please don’t spit).
That said, I have more gut feelings of things than I do anything else. Logic fails so many of us so I keep bringing things to God and asking a very serious WWJD? But again, in my humble-ish opinion, that’s a conversation for bodies, not blinking cursors.
The little ditty below is not my normal poetry, but it’s what came. I edited, tweaked, pushed it around, but I think at this point it’s best to just hit publish and see what comes of it. It’s rough and is by no means my “response” to anything going on, but it is what seems to be coming from my gut. So I guess that makes it indigestion.
Oh well. Here goes.
451
the sugared lips of self made saints
sing of a higher truth
if not we sing of justice damned
we best just burn the book.
a careful finger strikes the key
the trembling heart, forsook
come down! decide! stand for the weak
or go and burn the book.
your politics are showing, man
exposed, your soul was took
this moment is your rorschach test
you deigned to burn the book.
a variance (degree, though slight)
blood spilled, now off the hook
w’ve lost the plot, we’ve lost a life
we’ve gone and burned the book.
Feel free to burn this sucker to the ground in the comments.
But really, I’d love to hear from you below.
I like it. We have truly lost our way!!