Hibernation
We are happy to at least survive
the hardship and adversities
of this recession winter
of increasing discontent,
the weakest falling deepest,
wreaked down in the gutter,
while we barely even keep our noses
above water, languishing and gasping
desperately for some space to breathe
in this deep-frozen world of violated spiritual values:
starving artists starve to death,
and bankrupt journals must close down,
publishers just scrap your manuscripts
for your audacity to even make an offer,
and commercialism increases in monstrosity and cruelty
with the preposterous society of self-consumption,
ruining the planet, forcing all idealism out of business.
Still, we manage to survive,
the winter blossoms and perennials,
since we are used to hibernating,
being certain of our case,
that beauty always must survive all ugliness,
that love lasts longer than all mortal brawl
and longer than eternity,
which is our party for survival.
Poetry by Christian Lanciai
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Editors' choiceWritten on 2009-12-25 at 11:01
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J. E. |
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Christian Lanciai |
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Christin Brennan |
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Editorial Team |
