Perpetual war keeping
People transfixed on
Existential questions
Instead of rationality.
The dull hum of constant
Death and destruction,
Lives obliterated over
Unsettled matters.
Of course it doesn’t
Have to be like this,
Healing being a far more
Desirable outcome.
Profoundly mediocre,
Unsavory, disreputable,
Elevated to
Undeserved status by
Followers projecting
Their insecurities upon them,
Characterless swindlers
Preying on the defenseless,
Benefiting from misery.
She stares at her daughter,
The same one who was filled
With joy and promise just
A year ago, the one who
Dutifully did everything
She was asked and never caused
A problem, a ready smile
Brightening the world around her.
She learns that her daughter
Lives in a tent
With an abusive man who
Has impregnated her.
Inside, she rages with shame,
The gall of this child,
Homeless, alcoholic, ungrateful,
Making her look bad.
Countless prosperous companies
Lamenting that they can’t find
Qualified workers,
Not that there aren’t
Thousands of people applying
Who would eagerly and gratefully
Work for them, starting immediately,
It’s just that leadership
No longer cares to spend
The money to train their employees,
Positions go unfilled,
Mountains of profits accumulate as
Existing workers shoulder the burden.
Unable to convince him of
His own worth,
The process unfolds over
Many painful years of
Self-loathing,
Watching helplessly
From nearby
As things devolve,
Constantly hoping for
Something that may never come.
When asked why there
Is so much acrimony
Between opposing camps and
Whether it’s worse now
Than ever before,
He responds in a manner
Devoid of self-awareness
That we could all benefit
From a more civil tone,
The exact opposite of
What he did when he
Was in a position
To set an example.
Swarms of zealous
Dark figures fan out
Across the city,
There’s a mission
To be accomplished here,
Must protect all that
Is sacred, rid our
Shores of this horrid
Menace, return back
To the days when we
Only turned on
Each other.
That almost imperceptible
Difference in the air,
When we’re not quite sure
The seasons are changing
But some primeval instinct
Is telling us
That things are not quite
As they should be, that
Some new force is
Insinuating itself,
A historical whisper,
We reassure ourselves
It can never happen here.
She knew what it
Was like growing up
Without food on the table
Because the weather didn’t
Cooperate that season,
Her parents staring
Forlornly into the distance.
She spent many days
Wandering down dusty lanes
Thinking of the time when
She would leave that
Place and start anew
Somewhere where the
Buildings reached for
The clouds, where anything
Was possible, where she
Could run the show.
She made it to the
Halls of power and she
Never missed an opportunity
To destroy families like hers.
