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Floccinaucinihilipilification And Very Little Heart
    (Second of Three Poem Trilogy)

II

Winter blowing in fierce, bitter cold now lingers
soon the "old and useless" will meet their destined fate,
at Winter-child's hands, gun, itchy trigger fingers
and infantile minds that so dearly love to hate.
Ah, but the "old and useless" stood their sacred ground
with true honor, pride and its time tested displays,
where else can such gratuitous treasures be found
or joy and freedom be had in these weeping days?

The "old and useless", in rightly honored places
would journeying spirits find their defending grip,
souls weakened without dismay on their bright faces,
from whence came those packs of jackals to tear and rip?
Ah, but world's powers feed upon lust and deep greed
with fever pitch tries to kill foundations of trust
using false values think power is all they need,
vanquishing the "old and useless" becomes a must!

As new dawn emerges, up sprouts new and green shoots
with light absorbing leaves they sing loud as they glow
some are outraged, change to put on their stomping boots,
others joining that course, seeing how the winds blow.
Burnt midnight oil, ink splashes on receptive page
as poetic hearts and souls stand firm on solid ground,
furious, they write and tremble in aching rage
with shields held higher while knowing their cause is sound.

Winter blowing in fierce, bitter cold now lingers
soon the "old and useless" will meet their destined fate,
at Winter-child's hands, gun, itchy trigger fingers
and infantile minds that so dearly love to hate.
Ah, but the "old and useless" stood their sacred ground
with true honor, pride and its time tested displays,
where else can such gratuitous treasures be found
or joy and freedom be had in these weeping days? 

Robert J. Lindley, 3-25-2018
Rhyme

Note: 
Make of this what you will,
I give thus and surely shall send no bill
Yet in my poet's heart my soul oft grieves
for the Autumn colors not the decaying leaves
For the heart that yearns to write and truly give
and the mortal soul that writes to live
With inked symbols and a mind tired of toil
wading through worlds filled with pride and hidden turmoil
I write with purpose to give to others, not to take
tho' oft my poet's heart over burning coals some gladly rake.

Note- This poem is titled, Floccinaucinihilipilification And Very Little Heart
and is the , Second of Three Poem Trilogy....
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