Fourth Turning
I wonder
How far we’ll go
So desperate for heroes who are first
Criminal enterprises
Romanticized as rebels
Lies wrapped in a maybe-he-could-make-it-all-better?
From what?
To what?
We do not consider
Perhaps for lungs
A bowl of water
A slice of sun shone through a winter window
If I had fingers
I’d perch atop an Oak
Squawk to the mountainous clouds
Construct a nest from its torn cotton
If I had wings sharpened by a falcon
I’d drink the egg-rims of Saturn
Return to Earth
A different person
My milestones of shame truly forgiven
But that is as impossible
As utility pole lines heavy with crows of time
My descendants already cupped from the sand
Castles
Moats
Draw bridges
Guards lined along the walls with weapons
Drawn
A priest edging the ear of the new King
But not for purposes of truth
He seeks his own hold on power
Will deliver the masses
Who will suffer oppression
And poverty
Hunger disease and war
The remembrance of a once-was-my-house
With laughable heat and light and glass and wood
And brick mortared together in order
As it always is
Cities inside the walls will crumble
Into utter shocking misery
From our neglect
Our blindness
Our mute swan unfolded between our legs
It never seemed possible
But neither did the aftermath of a starved body
Reduced to caves and scouring ants
Ribs gathered by an archeologist
Ladders
Lowered
Into our graves
Of blame
When greed
That original hunger
Was both the first and final hour.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
