rendered

rendered

 

After hope goes,

after bitter tears,

dark, rank with accumulated s**t,

after too many days after,

gorillas, elephants, white hopping hares

screaming coarse epithets

gets to be daily fare,

after selling out for a promise

of magic beans that never quite

feed the hunger, never

quiet the ghosts or

the grumbling giants who demand

because they can,

because their tantrums kill.

After the thrill is gone,

no option to die young and pretty,

no romantic suicide pacts,

no hope-driven suicide bombers

going out in a blaze of glory

in the company of hated strangers.

Drudging steps, heavy heartbeats,

clanging memories, busy summer

bees buzzing, buzzing

like cocaine.

The pain is the same, distributed

here and there.  No ultimate

achievement leads

to golden skies.

 

(c) February 23, 2008 Laurie Corzett/libramoon