Cold

Even when one is a godless cur, a man
Who has no use for crippled puppies,
Orphans, land-mine victims, persecuted
Rednecks, one takes care to seem as if
He feels some sort of empathy for those
Who suffer for some reason. In his
Frozen heart, he doesn't. This is just
Another planet. Forces act upon its
Elements, some of which, pitifully,
Claim to have some sort of life,
Asserting difference from tides,
From fire, from erosion, worthy of said
Empathy. He yawns. He doesn't give
A damn. He's seen the victims of the backpack
Bombers and the silent drones. No sort
Of death is sad to him, so no tears form
When he discovers that a mouse remains
Alive within the trap he's set. He dares not
Touch it. It will bite. Instead, he drops
It into water, ends its life efficiently.
No one has seen, so he need not pretend
To have felt anything. Existence, some
Say, life, continues for our godless cur.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 21 times
Written on 2021-10-31 at 09:36

dott Save as a bookmark (requires login)
dott Write a comment (requires login)
dott Send as email (requires login)
dott Print text