From the crumbling, bullet-ridden houses,
Full of countless childhood pictures,
From the smoldering cities,
Heavy with the smoke of countless fires,
From the dust of countless broken buildings,
Into the dust of the desert,
With countless broken people,
Their countless dead,
And all their possessions,
In the fire.
In the dust.
Across the world, across the sea,
For countless weeks,
They waited and hoped and prayed,
Their struggles, countless.
The horrors they’d witnessed, countless.
When they finally got there,
They were told,
That no one would help them.
That they were not wanted.
That they, the countless,
Did not count.
Time keeps moving forward,
Always forward, measuring change.
Moving energy and matter through space.
Artificially divided into intervals,
We call by different names.
Seasons and seconds.
Hours and eras.
We order our linear lives in this way.
For we too are matter and energy,
Constantly being moved forward by time.
Our form is sentient, observant,
Aware that it’s being moved.
Fearing the moment when awareness ends.
Naming that moment, death.
Matter is neither created, nor destroyed.
So we won’t be literally be gone,
When we’re dead.
We’ll no longer be in the same sentient form,
But we’ll still be here.
Our matter, our energy,
Still being pulled along,
Always forward, by time.
For all you’ve given us,
You’re not much of a romantic.
Love, you tell us,
Is only in our heads.
Just a chemical reaction.
Elevated levels of dopamine,
Seratonin, and ocytocin.
Flooding our brains and bodies,
With intoxicating pleasure.
High from the uppers and opioids,
Created by our own brains,
We wouldn’t mind staying,
In this crazy-in-love,
Forever and ever.
But, Science tells us,
Such feelings are fleeting.
Your feel-good chemicals,
Will level off,
Because love, you tell us,
Is only a chemical reaction.
Elevated levels of dopamine,
Doping our brains.
Seratonin, soothing our souls,
And intoxicating oxytocin.
But love is more complicated,
What if the chemical levels,
Drop in our brains,
Because they’ve migrated to our hearts?
Settled in the neurons there.
Which is why when we’re apart,
From the one we love,
We feel a physical ache in our hearts.
It’s because heart feelings linger.
And if you don’t feel that pang,
Then those feel-good chemicals,
Never made their way to your heart.
They were, sadly, only in your head
We live on the surface,
Of the shallow crust,
Of a gigantic magnet.
It has positive and negative poles,
Constantly interacting with one another.
Simultaneously repelling themselves,
And yearning to complete themselves.
Everything depends upon this polarization.
The rotation of the earth,
And its orbit around the sun.
The fusion reaction of the sun,
Generating the light,
Filling up the darkness,
Creating life itself.
Filling up the negative spaces,
With light and life.
They say we’re not made,
Of magnetic stuff.
But nature knew what she was doing,
When nature made our nature,
Just as as magnetic,
As the earth itself.
It’s a curious thing.
What makes a man begin to hate everyone,
Is it an insurmountable sadness,
That drives him to madness,
That makes him not a man,
But a monster filled with rage?
Or rather a machine,
With no empathy or anything,
That makes one a human being.
Was he really a monster?
Was he really a machine?
Did he really hate those people?
How could he go through it?
Was it God that made him do it?
We can really only speculate.
What filled him with so much hate.
So much hatred.
So much death.
So many people willing,
To be the monsters and machines,
To do the hurting and the killing.
When those creative juices,
Do not flow very well,
And inspiration, it reduces,
And you have nothing to tell.
There are no new rhymes for you to make.
And no new metaphors to bake,
Into a nice poetic cake,
Served at a picnic by a lake.
There is no picnic.
There’s no cake.
No trees, no water.
There’s no lake.
And the inside of your head,
Is more dry than a dry lake bed.
You’re stuck inside a barren hell,
When you’re going through a long dry spell.
There goes Sarah Palin,
Railin’ against country and king.
Rocking that beat poetry thing.
Has she ever endeavored poetry?
Because never so clever was she.
Takin’ the time to toe to line and find a rhyme.
She’s got the drive to stay alive and to thrive you know.
At least she said so.
Just like a feral Lewis Carroll,
She’s using words you’ve never heard.
Words like, “skwirmish” and “refudiate.”
To elucidate or make it clear,
She said she’s a no-fear Shakespeare.
She was a bad politician, that failin’ Palin.
Should have made poetry her mission.