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The disdained soul watches the show.
Everynight they play it.
Different characters, different blows,
But the same story indeed.
Death is on tonight's menu.
Bombs have been going off all day
As we worked for out peas and carrots.
Soldiers have lost their lives,
As we watched shoplifters detected.
Who among us would trade places?
Who among us will battle?
We stay in our mundane lives,
Our place is to watch the story at 5.
We don't run against the hunt.
We are safe and protected in our glass houses,
In our jobs,
Not watching unless we must.
People are dying.
People are living.
People are praying for loved ones
While the rest of us
Weep for those caught in the
Mines of insurgents.
We thank God it's not one of us,
Our loved ones sent to battle.
We watch
We read.
We try not to feel.
Parents of destroyed souls weep
Before our eyes.
We learn a little of those taken,
But do we care?
Do We really listen?
The 15 minutes of fame is death
And it is served cold.
Just like the body that is sent back.
When will the killing stop?
One man decides,
Seems like we should take a vote.
We try not to feel,
But we still see.
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Posted by Faith on 2008-03-01 13:58:43 | Rating: | Views: 77
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| Blog Comments
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That was a wonderful poem. But so sad. But so true. I wish that I could write poetry like that. You are very lucky.
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Posted by Fancie
on 2008-03-04 15:42:33
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well said love this post
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Posted by necronomincon
on 2008-03-04 16:45:41
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