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THE DESTRUCTION OF COURAGE (The 26th Violent Verse)

The imagery’s grown so stark
the tempo its fury,
violence, its stroke,
all quickened, loud.
We’ve left the injured bound
and buried, where screams
pierce like whispers.

Gone is our awareness,
emptied like God in our prayers.
Our courage to defeat it
hangs in the air like a paper kite
set aloft as if to stay;
sandcastles and daydreams have more
sky than our spirit.

We’ve built worlds in our thoughts
only to destroy forests and oceans
filled with our uncertain faces.
All the while our fists have been busy
finding flesh to unwrap.

O! These images weep!
What noises are we painting
that haven’t already failed
to pierce heaven?



© 2009 mrp/thepoetryman

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