This is the new blog...CONFESSION ZERO



When the animal we wanted to be
Hasn't come forth,
Couldn't climb into this world
Through spaces vast window,
And we hear a distant hum,
As if it is weeping a million miles away
At not having the courage to even try,
And we feel its loss inside of us
And we conjure what might have been,
Perhaps we should simply rise up
And not sit so far away from life
And stop this, our incessant dreaming
Of new ways to conquer and destroy.

When the animal we wanted to be
Hasn’t reared its beautiful head,
Perhaps it is afraid it might be the uglier
Or fearful it will fail us
And we’d drop our bombs
And blast a hole clean through imagination...
Or, perhaps it has no desire to draw closer;
It hears our weeping a million miles away,
And heeds our mournful whimper
At not having the courage to end
Our warring and wholesale butchery,
And it feels our loss deep inside
And sees what it might have been.

Copyright © 2006 mrp / thepoetryman
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