When hunger strikes it is not as swift, it is not as jaw droppingly horrific or nearly as visual or pragmatic as when terror comes.
Terror comes as a thundering blast, piercing the rust of contentment, disintegrating steely assurance- hunger slithers in.
News of terror strikes fear and panic, seduces our pounding, frantic wits with darkness, dust and death devouring whatever’s left.
Hunger pays no attention to time or place running our courage over our eyes with the private ghastliness of its teeth veiled in bravery’s demise.
We’d recognize hunger in a crowded airport. Know it if we accidentally bumped into it and turn away from its ugly and careworn face. Terror’s not made that way. It arrives with a most thunderous shot, penetrating the crust of our indulgence, obliterating our steely assurance while hunger slithers in.
Terror calls upon a nation to sacrifice, stand firm where fear imagines it’s safe, as if distance were a cushion around breathing, bravery, the call of sleep.
When hunger comes, it is silent, vile and leaves more dead than terror’s pace, but war and horror thunder like the gods, darkness, dust and death
© 2009 mrp/thepoetryman
I like it, very much, TPM. Is the art yours?
ReplyDeleteHunger in this country is "your fault" and thus your shame (and your own problem). Terror, on the other hand, is "their" doing and sets up the scene for the righteous "us vs. them" anger and action. Sad, but not surprising.
Elizabeth,
ReplyDeleteThank you.
Yes. The art is mine.
Hunger and Terror- my fault and my problem. Yes. Now if we can just get the rest of the people to understand that fact.