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When Shoots Are Heard Around the World
The day is entrenched in spring
Or winter, it's all the same
I Had been enjoying
What the day had
That is until the news came.
A Flood comes next:
How horrible
How deplorable
How predictable.
Shame calls:
On the sun rays
On the time you still have
On how human wombs can breed
What you call evil.
You scan the headlines for more.
A face to hate
A town to stay away from
A distraction to help alleviate
The the feeling of deja vu,
it's Colorado this time
Oh, wait no that was last week’s
This time was it thirteen
Or twenty?
then spectacle reaches a climax
You can’t wait till everyone
Uses the blood as ink to write their agendas
Can’t wait for news channels to use the corpses
As soapboxes for every pretentious air brain
Prostituting themselves for name recognition
As “an expert”.
Can't wait to see the false sympathy parade
Of prayers from Kalamazoo
To Timbuktu.
Yet, hear the cheers when our bombs drop
Far, far away from you
And I can’t wait for the spectacle
to not notice when our bombs hit a hospital.
premeditated, the way they like it.
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I wrote this poem a while ago, around December. After another mass shooting in the U.S., and I could help but see that the news coverage for each is the same. We glue ourselves to our TV screens, phone screens as well now, and go through the practiced emotional motions. I felt like I just need to vent my anger with the whole system. I only hope that I do not sound too misanthropic.