Millard Lowe Poet Prose Poetry

Of Wars and Things

OF WARS AND THINGS…
   (A TRILOGY OF PEACE)
		
		I

The whole world is a war and we are its        
     Victims; you and me…us;
Fading silhouettes of life, chasing tomorrow
     In euphoric bliss…
Riding high on a giant white cloud:
     A mushroom nourishing on pregnancies
    Giving birth to new world war ghosts.
Living today has be indefinitely postponed;
     The world has declared war on peace.

		II

In psalms of dreams, webbed in the labyrinth
     Time spins; praying to the fertility gods,
I stole a hole in space and planted a flower;
     Mourning peace amidst
The empty shadows of wars never won.

		III

They say flowers don’t grow here anymore: 
     Earth’s womb a victim of nuclear pus;
And her tissues of civilization lay rotting
     From atomic infestation;
Military plagues mutating shells of humanity
     Freaked out on self destruction.
As peace suffocates at the conference table,
     God is denied a seat.

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