A world awash with war,
I drifted in with scent of death
and springtime showers
that lingered,
life support rationed
and formed into
queues of necessity.
A lifetime later,
the smell trickles back
tinged with apathy.
No queues.
Full bellies.
Half a world away,
hunger and horror strike,
but our telly-sotted minds
are immune.
Sometimes it intrudes,
we send money to salve our
intermittent consciences
then continue our safe lives.
Shaken by a terrorist bomb,
we take fright,
freeze for a beat,
worry.
… but further media frenzy
focuses on the latest
celebrity scandal,
curiosity juices flow.
We lap up each drop greedily
not able or ready to distinguish between
the stink of corruption
and the sickly smell of war.
How I yearn for a fragrant springtime,
tender, green shoots of hope.
The stench removed
forever.
Comments
Silver Spun Sand | November 30, 2008 - 17:28
I would hope that everyone would feel as you do Val -so beautifully expressed and summed up in the last stanza:-
"How I yearn for a fragrant springtime,
tender, green shoots of hope.
The stench removed
forever."
Unfortunately, events in the last few days, have shown that not all share this view. Incomprehensible to you and me and thank heaven, to the majority of us.
A thought-provoking poem.
Tina x
Bradene | December 1, 2008 - 09:47
I wrote this some time ago now during another crisis and just after the London terrorist attack, but alas it seems to be just as relevent today. Don't suppose things will ever change, but at least we can hope. Val x :)
Nathan Bednarek | December 16, 2008 - 09:48
The first four lines are like a fist coming at you and these
'life support rationed
and formed into
queues of necessity.'
are the actual punch and then the poem just keeps swelling up. This is so powerful, I love it. Well done.
Nathan.
Bradene | December 16, 2008 - 10:17
Thank you Nathan so much Val x