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Painted Hunter. Click the Next or Previous links below the poem to navigate between poems. Remember, Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth. Thank you.
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Naw, I just work here
I'm here among the trees on a cold fall morning. The sun will rise soon and
the squirrels will start to chatter.
I can't help but take the time to thank God I'm not standing on asphalt
somewhere, amid the angry, concerned mobs.
I've not seen another human for two days, other than my wife and children, and I don't miss the company.
I've heard that there are riots and folks are looting. I hear there are protests,
peaceful, and otherwise ... sitting here such things seem so foreign to me.
Somewhere, there's a guy counting his money with greedy eyes and a sallow
I'm thinking those dollars might be good for something, I'm just not sure what,
at the moment.
I wonder when the world got so big and proudly
educated. I wonder how much longer it has
until the few things left sacred are raped and all I love
is a memory, and I ...nothing but a relic
that even the old moon can scarcely recall.
I thought about protesting it
I thought I might lay down on a freeway and stop traffic, but then,
I might get run over by a soccer mom taking her child to school
to learn things that are possibly true, to be molded into...
whatever it is they're going for these days.
I reckon I could go loot for a spell, but I can't think of much I need,
in the way of stolen goods.
I could burn down some stores, but most buildings don't offend me too much,
and I ain't cold anyhow.
In the end,
I s'pose i'll just sit here peacefully
and continue to be
by the world around me.
And maybe one day before it's too late,
the clear simplicity of life won't be darkened by the bitter irony
of it's sallow complexion.