It's still dark out. The wind is slashing, unseen,
Through the leafless trees. The world's become
A wretched place. Snow flies, now picked up
From the ground, and troops fly, too, to many
Places. Our own grotesque government intent
On forcing other lands to kneel and grovel,
Kills and tortures. Most lands do as ours demands,
While battling among themselves. Blood
Is flowing everywhere, and tears are shed,
And graves are dug, yet all these episodes
Of violence, all the thousands starving, dead,
Are but hors d'oeuvres to what will come.
As did the world's former masters, our land
Ages and grows weak. At mealtime, those
We've victimized will leave their knees
To slaughter us. We'll find that we've become
The feast, and, in its aftermath, get good
At groveling for someone else. That's simply
How things always work. The wind comes
Slashing. Can't you hear it, even in the dark?

Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 94 times
Written on 2020-01-18 at 14:14

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Very dark. Captures our times just right.

josephus The PoetBay support member heart!
You write very intuitively about an historical circularity that began in the 1930's. And ended in 1945. I pray we have the strength to break the cycle but I fear not!