In the middle of the night
when darkness curries favor
with sleeplessness and fright,
I wander room-to-room
in hopelessness that dawn
will come bearing anything
more than false light.
Too many days of bold lies
called forth from the darkest
spaces of twisted minds
force us all to walk in darkness,
and into exhausted days unable
to perform the simplest tasks,
weary beyond all telling,
silenced senses yelling,
deadened and unfeeling.
To feel would be to die,
or die trying
to make sense of such evil.
The cost of others’ greed is too high
for men and women of conscience,
of even Mother Earth herself,
to survive.
There is no answer
to the question, “why?”.
And so, I continue to roam
dark spaces, seeking answers.
I am woke. I stay awake
to face dark days
and dark nights.
I roam looking for ways
to pull us all to safe spaces
where restful sleep may come.
annarino writes 
FIGHTING WORDS
Poetry has fled.
Art hides in plain sight
behind clouds of flame,
beyond winds of change,
before plutocrats take the stage,
no longer waiting behind the scenes
which hide their rage.
Words have lost all meaning
when facts go unchecked
flung too fast to sustain truth
and belief in its power to right wrongs
for the weak and the poor,
tossed aside by courts which cower
fearing loss of wealth and power.
Which words are safe when lies procure
the party in power’s silent vote to score
total control of each life, each thought,
each breath threatened by dirty schemes
to pollute the earth, water and air?
Words cannot be spoken, claimed by death
of the rule of law.
No words exist to describe the depravity
some of us saw
as our words lay dying
first inside
then outside
where meaning can be lost.
Words remain frozen in heavy frost,
weighed down by cold hearts
and dead souls
seeking total control.
Freedom resides in words
which too often remain unsaid.
Words too softly spoken to wake
those asleep, escaping, all hopes dead.
Too few words of truth must compete
with an onslaught of unchecked lies.
I listen and watch, lost in thought.
I write and I plead against what we have wrought.
Poetry, I fear, carries too-little weight.
Poetry, perhaps, has waited too late
to escape the threat when so many lies
have buried the truth for power and greed.
Money has always been the creed
clothed in religion and faith
which grants God’s grace
to those who deserve to see His face
on dollar bills and hung on towers.
False gods seek our praise as they devour
a country whose best citizens
refuse to use their power to remain free,
and would rather lose their democracy.
Leave a comment
Filed under COMMENTARY, POETRY, POLITICS
Tagged as Bannon, books, courts, elon musk, facebook, Giulianni, John Thune, Judge Cannon, META, news editors, newspapers, poem, poet, poetry, Republican Party, rule of law, SCOTUS, social media, Speaker johnson, Steven Miller, trump, VANCE, WRITING, Zuckerburg