Nerval
02-03-2017, 11:20 PM
Hello :) This poem doesn't really have a title yet, so any suggestions are welcome! Any critiques/comments would be greatly appreciated, as I'm not sure what it's worth. Thank you!
All this talk about “Us” and “Them” is making me nervous,
a fully loaded, incendiary diatribe whose bullets have already torn through
the flesh and bone of the backs of the ones who were only trying to flee,
words digging trenches for a war I didn’t know we needed.
But they say it will be a “lightning” war, our very own blitzkrieg,
swift action and swift victory.
Joyce wrote “History is a nightmare” but he should have added
that some delight in its circularity.
There was a garish parody, a farce,
and while we all squinted in search of a punchline,
lifelines were severed,
he grabbed and conquered,
and sought to tear us apart.
The feast is set. Today we dine
on hate, intolerance, fear,
clutching our knives as if to cut the atmosphere into more manageable bites.
But we’ve bitten off more than we can chew and we’re choking,
drowning in a sea of opinions and wide-eyed, dusty photographs, and yet
our shores still do not welcome those who are struggling to stay afloat,
boats overcrowded, swimmers decided, and a little boy lying face down on a beach.
They say a wall will keep the plague out, but have they ever considered
that the plague might already be lurking inside,
its ghastly features concealed behind a crimson mask?
And yet
In the words of a great poet, still we’ll rise
over walls and prejudice,
oceans and injustice.
We the People shall stand united,
stitches in a fabric that shall not be the shroud of Decency, Dignity and Respect,
for we are bold, and proud, and loud,
our voices singing as one in myriad tongues, Babel no more,
feet marching in unison, stampede no more,
and we shall take a stand.
All this talk about “Us” and “Them” is making me nervous,
a fully loaded, incendiary diatribe whose bullets have already torn through
the flesh and bone of the backs of the ones who were only trying to flee,
words digging trenches for a war I didn’t know we needed.
But they say it will be a “lightning” war, our very own blitzkrieg,
swift action and swift victory.
Joyce wrote “History is a nightmare” but he should have added
that some delight in its circularity.
There was a garish parody, a farce,
and while we all squinted in search of a punchline,
lifelines were severed,
he grabbed and conquered,
and sought to tear us apart.
The feast is set. Today we dine
on hate, intolerance, fear,
clutching our knives as if to cut the atmosphere into more manageable bites.
But we’ve bitten off more than we can chew and we’re choking,
drowning in a sea of opinions and wide-eyed, dusty photographs, and yet
our shores still do not welcome those who are struggling to stay afloat,
boats overcrowded, swimmers decided, and a little boy lying face down on a beach.
They say a wall will keep the plague out, but have they ever considered
that the plague might already be lurking inside,
its ghastly features concealed behind a crimson mask?
And yet
In the words of a great poet, still we’ll rise
over walls and prejudice,
oceans and injustice.
We the People shall stand united,
stitches in a fabric that shall not be the shroud of Decency, Dignity and Respect,
for we are bold, and proud, and loud,
our voices singing as one in myriad tongues, Babel no more,
feet marching in unison, stampede no more,
and we shall take a stand.