Of war and men

Serendipity, solace, vanity and pain,
veracity is a poor companion
when nigh strikes with a lack of here
and a sudden sadness folds a bed
of dead soldiers and borders
– where hate and fear
reigns without mercy –
into a wilted feeling of tiredness.

Men and their weapons
fill me with sleep and why,
with solitude and more wine,
with a smeared feeling
of collaboration,
of being paid, bought,
for reasons of fraught laziness.

Who will declare war on poverty?
Who will go to war for peace?
Who will fight for the intellect
that goes to war for a consciousness?

Serendipity, no! Rater a free man,
or a women of bridges and free land,
a belonging, an entrance, a tree,
a way to see ongoing as it,
movement as time.




Poetry by Bob
Read 429 times
Written on 2011-08-16 at 00:08

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This is a very powerful piece, Bob.
While I do not share your sentiments, I may understand your position. And if you remain wilted, I wish you restored.
Am I correct to perceive hope in the final stanza? The repetition of 'free' is startling and indicates a degree of positivity, though you must correct me if I am wrong...
2011-08-16