The Grahamburglar Poet Free verse

War Machine

The tinkerer and his tool kit
turned a tarnished old key
which wound forgotten wheels
rusted and bound and…

A little oil should do,
a slight smattering of grease
perhaps, is all it will take
to recall the lost…lost…

Now what’s come of my lens?
Ah, yes, you see? Do you see?
There, my lad, it’s right there!
The heart of the matter…

Now, what’s the matter?
I think it can be fixed, lad. 
But not today…tomorrow!
Tomorrow it shall be!

A little more rust,
a little more forgetting
a little less vision
and…

Let’s leave it be for now.
Everything is ok.

8/14/16

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Frank Black Blacharczyk August 17, 2016 at 3:41 PM Well written. Wonderful imagery of how 'man' forgets the horrors of war and then it happens again because we have believed the lies. Oh we are to educated to let this happen again. Sweep it under the rug. Well written.

J. I. Thomas F. August 15, 2016 at 12:52 PM Good to see you back at it! This poem feels very correct ... very whole. I don't know what the fancy literary term is, but I think in art I would say it has good unity.

Scott Thirtyseven August 15, 2016 at 6:54 AM How wonderfully cynical. Fabulous poem.

Charmaine Chircop August 15, 2016 at 2:42 AM Its sad when we become passive to what we see ...believing problems will get solved on their own...The rust will poison our blood.till its too dark to feel. Tomorrow wont be ok ..but too late. A clever post indeed.

John Hamilton August 15, 2016 at 1:14 AM I think there is more tinkering to come, well said. Very clever!

Rev. Gerald Dillenbeck August 14, 2016 at 9:14 PM Hmmm. The tinkerers we have become. Enjoyed my visit and thx for yours. Gerald Oliver