I Wish I Had Never Dreamed Of Machines
Live By the Gun
Die by the gun.
A neverending tragedy
Showing no signs of abating.
Your country's marred
By flagrant displays
Of rampant weapon worship.
And a country reeking of death.
It's likely far too late for stricter rules
Shooting after shooting
Is ample proof of one thing
You don't want to change.
There's a pervasive heaviness of
Reservation, resigning oneself to
The inevitable war machines
Is this how we are going to destroy ourselves.
When your leaders fail to save you.
When loud-mouthed idiots
Want a gun in every pot.
But the saddest thing of all
Is your indifference to the dead
This outpouring of so-called concern
Is already yesterday's news.
I wrote these two poems this past summer, before the Presidential debates between Hillary Clinton and that former wheeler-dealer-aka-reality-show-host-aka-loose-cannon-aka-hubby-of-trophy-wife, Donald Trump. "The Trump Administration (scary), President Trump Leader of the most powerful (and reviled) nation in the free world. Okay Republicans and everyone who voted this man in, I have but one question for you: WHAT WERE YOU THINKING??????????????????????????
That's enough ranting for awhile. I dubbed this entire hot mess America's First Cartoon President.
I Wish I'd Never Dreamed Of Machines
The sordid underbelly bubbles like tar
On a sizzling suburban street ,
A seven-year-old named Luka
Was running from kids wanting desperately
To tear into his psyche and turn his stomach into Jello.
They call it “the social media”
But I like to call it Hell.
What purpose can ever be served
When vulnerable children
With free and unsupervised access
To the tepid quagmire of the Internet
Are waving their young lives good-bye.
Years ago in the mid-1990's
I was warned about this
Unnatural and repugnant
Breeding ground
And I simply scoffed
And changed the subject
Making me a substantial
Contributor of youthanasia.
A dismal war zone, where children
Play among cyber landmines.
And fumble with lethal innocence.
Once that corrugated gateway
Was flung open with
Youthful abandon
I know we had fallen
Headfirst into a terrifying abyss
From which there is never, ever
A life raft or a buoy to cling to
Or a map to show us how very far
We have tumbled into darkness
And will continue in this trajectory
Until the Machines sit back
And laugh in our wooden,
Ghostly faces.
Lonelyheroine July 10th 2016.
Live By the Gun
Die by the gun.
A neverending tragedy
Showing no signs of abating.
Your country's marred
By flagrant displays
Of rampant weapon worship.
And a country reeking of death.
It's likely far too late for stricter rules
Shooting after shooting
Is ample proof of one thing
There's a pervasive heaviness of
Reservation, resigning oneself to
The inevitable war machines
Is this how we are going to destroy ourselves.
When your leaders fail to save you.
When loud-mouthed idiots
Want a gun in every pot.
But the saddest thing of all
Is your indifference to the dead
This outpouring of so-called concern
Is already yesterday's news.
I wrote these two poems this past summer, before the Presidential debates between Hillary Clinton and that former wheeler-dealer-aka-reality-show-host-aka-loose-cannon-aka-hubby-of-trophy-wife, Donald Trump. "The Trump Administration (scary), President Trump Leader of the most powerful (and reviled) nation in the free world. Okay Republicans and everyone who voted this man in, I have but one question for you: WHAT WERE YOU THINKING??????????????????????????
That's enough ranting for awhile. I dubbed this entire hot mess America's First Cartoon President.
I Wish I'd Never Dreamed Of Machines
The sordid underbelly bubbles like tar
On a sizzling suburban street ,
A seven-year-old named Luka
Was running from kids wanting desperately
To tear into his psyche and turn his stomach into Jello.
They call it “the social media”
But I like to call it Hell.
What purpose can ever be served
When vulnerable children
With free and unsupervised access
To the tepid quagmire of the Internet
Are waving their young lives good-bye.
I was warned about this
Breeding ground
And I simply scoffed
And changed the subject
Making me a substantial
Contributor of youthanasia.
A dismal war zone, where children
Play among cyber landmines.
And fumble with lethal innocence.
Once that corrugated gateway
Was flung open with
Youthful abandon
I know we had fallen
Headfirst into a terrifying abyss
From which there is never, ever
A life raft or a buoy to cling to
Or a map to show us how very far
We have tumbled into darkness
And will continue in this trajectory
Until the Machines sit back
And laugh in our wooden,
Ghostly faces.
Lonelyheroine July 10th 2016.
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