Skip to main content

VIOLENCE SAID... (The 27th Violent Verse)

"Breaking a child is easier than it looks.
Their bones aren’t as weary,
Their breath uninfected,
Their eyes ready...
Their heart’s are strong,
but much easier to shatter.

Children still glow with possibility.
Their eyes still fill with wonder
Even when they’re breaking.
Their lips are still wet in youth
Not dried up and unpuckered.
Their feet are most ready to jump
Long before they’re branded.

A child continues to thrash after it’s done
And they deliver a most telling portrait
Of home and love, even when there is none."

O! I want to take all the children with me,
Cried humanity!
I’d hide them away from their use,
Clutch each one near to me and whisper,
“You’re the only heaven, the only worship I need…”


© 2009 mrp/thepoetryman


Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

sdrawkcaB nruT (Turn Backwards)

I have been witness to the four pillars and see no reason to carry death there. Doesn’t the world know that life moves for more than just the sons of Abraham? O! I see the stunned throats floating by in the dusk to their stiff-limbed sleep as metal rains down over the Jordan’s western prophet, children dying there. I am here, waiting, breathing in the dusk under the shadow of the patriarch, asking, can we again build the shrine inside the soul and leave our flesh to time? © 2008 mrp/thepoetryman
32 comments
read the poem

Waiting for It

Why do they stay there, between war and peace? Sky’s tapestry doles out guns, bombs and rocks while flesh and bone swim away from the ache yet live on as the food for the murder of peace. Why do we hide from the truth as if it were an ogre while death makes a home inside their living and war dispatches a raven to their door, smirking with the teeth of empire? Why do we wait, stooped for another wink? The sky’s drapery has tossed down ample clues, peace is breathing in harmony with war. (Road-maps are useless to blind leaders.) Why do they hold there, hunched in the gloom? Hatred’s bird cackling with bereavement needs end. Are we not rightly dishonored when we fill its trough with blood? © 2007 mrp/thepoetryman
12 comments
read the poem

Next To One Another (Amerotica)

If we lie next to one another, do you think we’ll forget the world? If our fingers hunt like tongues, do you think we’ll stumble upon silence? The dream begins the same, I’m older, my mind and body, slower. The dream ends the same, you lying next to me, fingers wagging. If we rest next to one another, do you think we’ll fail to notice war? If our tongues search like fingers, do you think we’ll assemble peace? Naked, both shining with grief, we sense the other’s bones like a sniper, spin new selves with each innocent, (child, dream, mother, hope, father) slain. Tonight we’ll unwind nightmares, our imaginings, dreams, will begin the same, mind and body slower, wagging, tongues speaking the drama from slumber. Copyright © 2006 mrp / thepoetryman
17 comments
read the poem