There is a nascent scream
forming in my throat
its origin runs deep
within the labrynth of
my psyche,
embedded in the fabric of
my persona,
beneath the scaffolding that
supports the beating of my heart
intermingled with my breath.
I've endured for far too long
the pathetic nature of the
human condition,
the endless stream of senseless violence
that circumnavigates the globe,
pointless murders based on
an infrastructure of crazed logic
embellished with religious beliefs
that tolerate no answer except the
ridiculous ones purported to come out of
the mouth of psychotic deities,
untimely deaths of men, women children,
victims of ludicrous struggles for power
wrought by nations that seek nothing but plunder
disguised as self-righterousness.
I've lived through too many wars,
too numerous to detail,
too horrid to contemplate,
too stupid to be believable,
wars that have grinded bodies
to dust,
buried alive thousands too
weak to resist,
wars that have wasted entire cities,
turned civilization to rubble,
sent mothers and their children
to screaming deaths,
wars that sacrificed reason and intellect
to the desire for oblivion and ruin,
wars that have murdered hope and
offered free license to despair,
wars that thwart human progress and
consign many to an early grave,
wars that unwind the clock of the future,
launching history into the
darkness of the dreaded past.
I've grown weary of the
endless streams of nonsense that
fill the bandwidth of the present with
tidal waves of petty thoughts and
nearly useless information.
I've come to tire of the
misuse of language,
vocal chords no longer the
gateways to our minds,
words strung together haphazardly in
nonsensical arrays,
communication no longer a tool for
exploration of self and other,
all has become insufferable vanity.
There is this nascent scream
lodged within the signature of my
innermost self,
brief sojourn of life so delicate and
wondrous,
turned into a shadow play
filled with circus and
steeped in illusion.
Reality has become sidelined,
the trumpets sound,
the noise deafening,
humanity herded into
a vast and perplexing hall of mirrors
where all protest is muted and
within the blazing lights of a
multitude of artificial suns,
what is essentially black and dismal
seems somehow golden,
young and agile children
armed with baskets
filled with a bounty of ornaments
disperse wondrous arrays of color
without substance,
fill the domed enclosure
shrouded from the incessant darkness
with idle and cheerful songs.
Dread has become enshrouded by apathy,
fear by pitiful amusement,
architects of the future
have crafted a world
impossible for humanity to endure.
This nascent scream
nesting within my belly
is an incipient cry of anguish
over all the needless suffering
carried by so many for
no acceptable reason,
for all the mindless insanity.
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