Perhaps it is because I don't understand goodness



Perhaps it is because I don't understand goodness,
that I do understand truth and beauty;

Like Vader, I understand what must be done
to bring balance to the plotlines, not to mention the force:
it's not pretty.

George already decided,
CGI is strong with me – mediclorians off the scale;
nothing for me to do about it, except pout and brood,
and fight with my conscience.

Whereas beauty is obvious,
and truth may take a while but ultimately cannot be avoided,
(its in the script)
goodness seems to always be walking the other way
from where I'm going.

Not even sure if I want it –
there is something about badness that is rather, um, good.
The dark side throws way better parties.
Who wants to hold hands with an Ewok,
when you can surrender to a man
who's weapon is buzzing green neon
who's love is death,
who quite possibly is the embodiment of all evil,
not in a small way:
commands a thousand squadrons of men in black shiny body armour
(those helmets!)
and owns a space ship the size of a small moon.

If Vader wrote poetry in quiet moments,
the early hours of the morning when he couldn't sleep,
or those times when a friend abandoned him,
like Obi Wan,
and even though he was about as annoying as any friend ever gets,
and he was mostly glad to be free of him,
part of him couldn't help missing the irritation.

Eventually, I know, I'm going to get my brain fried,
and the great evil that runs black blood through my veins
will be thrown into a nuclear furnace,

But until that happens,
I'm going to enjoy banging Padme Amidala,
for the brief moments of happiness I have been given,

before the killing begins.



Poetry by Andrew Bindon
Read 599 times
Written on 2009-12-07 at 12:06

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