Alas the day

By admin November 11, 2020 Poetry 0 Comments

Alas the day,
alas the night,
when the voices cease,
and the words run from the page,
when men, women, boys and girls are deprived through repression,
oppression,
racism and hate,
and ill education of an age.

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Here is Oscar Wilde,
here is Kant,
here is Hitler in Mein Kampf,
here is Tolkien,
here is Tolstoy,
here is Sylvia Plath,
here is Sigmund Freud,
here is Winston Churchill, their brains at rest upon the racks,
and as the avid reader awaits,
ready to take them home and relax,
ready to devour their pages and their words with beady eyes by the fire dressed in coat and hat,
and not ready,
not ready to face the world or the rain,
but instead tea and a biscuit,
now, what could be better than that?

Humans shoot bullets.
Humans get stabbed.
Humans use acid to attack.
Humans sell drugs.
Gangs rob and steal goods and money,
and society is ravaged by the acts,
and people are tempted,
people are tempted by easy cash,
and gangs they prowl the streets in packs,
victims of crime,
damaged and physically injured,
who in their emotions can never recover by constantly looking back.
Peer pressure and greed,
societies disease,
societies disease pushing people into ever desperate acts.

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