A poem
Force Majeure
I have a mind built in brutalist architecture,
Corners and windows resembling torture devices,
Establishing a dialect continuum
As an entire generation comes of age
Under the specter of the moon.
Must the sun now rise?
It would be preferable to live underground,
Let the world heal itself
And emerge like bears from a cave,
Ready to reclaim the woods and pastures.
It is easy to believe in Heaven and Hell
When you have been to both.
My memories are all out of order in the centrifuge,
Terror interspersed with scant satisfaction,
Led like a cow to the slaughter,
Reliving death again and again.
I must excuse myself now from the summer,
An insanity plea my only defense.
Look at the human beings! vital and free,
A tad off in the head but alive.
This is the miracle of a new century.
Yes, the reversal of sound and light
Is an existential conundrum.
Treasure though the children,
And we might see the world off to better times
When our bodies lie cold in the earth.
I have a mind built in brutalist architecture,
Corners and windows resembling torture devices,
Establishing a dialect continuum
As an entire generation comes of age
Under the specter of the moon.
Must the sun now rise?
It would be preferable to live underground,
Let the world heal itself
And emerge like bears from a cave,
Ready to reclaim the woods and pastures.
It is easy to believe in Heaven and Hell
When you have been to both.
My memories are all out of order in the centrifuge,
Terror interspersed with scant satisfaction,
Led like a cow to the slaughter,
Reliving death again and again.
I must excuse myself now from the summer,
An insanity plea my only defense.
Look at the human beings! vital and free,
A tad off in the head but alive.
This is the miracle of a new century.
Yes, the reversal of sound and light
Is an existential conundrum.
Treasure though the children,
And we might see the world off to better times
When our bodies lie cold in the earth.