Before the poem rears its bloody head
I must tell you of its journey…
I was perusing one of my old haunts
and was summoned to view this graphic picture:
I need not explain the visceral reaction
at having seen such a dismal print.
With this, I was ready to write, but first paid a visit
to the source of the picture, a new haunt Mssc1977.
It was there that I came upon a commenter named “caveman”
wreaking havoc on this fine site;
CAVEMAN: "Lezzy I have done more for my country then any leftest on this planet..I support the kiling of terrorist..and their children ...I am not in the mood for those hate filled children grow up and behead my kids..get it?..no you dont....its becasue you are a leftest like swan..its ok..its abnormal..now go sit in a corner and chew on your toenails ..its healhty and full of calcium. "
To which I replied thus-
`You're sounding much like a disgrace to humanity, my cave-friend... Have you, in all your "vast experience", not found an ounce, not one infinitesimal split second smidgen of a day old iota of your scrawny soul? Preemptive genocide is your path to ridding the world of evil?
You had best turn the blade upon yourself first, if that is indeed your raison detre...
You’re not amusing, funny, patriotic, heroic, or in the least bit brave… You’re a coward. Can you live with that truth, caveman?'
OUR ANGER FOULED
Let us take steps to confront our butchered age;
Cross the plains of reason, peering over the chasm.
Do not now upon time’s ripeness wait. It is here;
Black and bleeding, pulsing malevolence most foul,
Most ready… Take heed! Take heed! It is near!
Do you not sense its lunging forth of breathing
Like some blood-worn madman stalking gloom?
Bringing hair to mount in mockery our withered will,
Kicking our heels apace in pursuit of indifference,
Chiding our conscience, spurring us toward hell?
How can we learn of journeys taken upon this world
If we’re wholly numb inside our vacuous ideals?
How can we be so empty of splendor, we sever this;
Our very thoughts to spite the deadness, rotting flesh?
It is here! Our fetid love! Our anger-fouled civilization!
It is here! Goddamnit! It is here!
Holding our linens bleached of blood’s residue
We don the slippery and soiled scabbard of our end…
Copyright © 2006 mrp
Inspired by Nightbird's Fountain