The Yearning - Broken

 

     A headline,

Breaking news to a breaking people,

     ‘MISTER JONES FELL OFF HIS STEP LADDER TODAY!’

Three rungs up he were it seems,

Three rungs up for a three foot fall and only if,

Did I want to emulate his fame.

 

     Names of celebrities graced my

Paper of international worth,

Someone new had made it to the top,

Someone blue had dropped

With a knowingness of conceit

That couldn’t compete with

Falsehoods and dire platitudes,

     Still, living in peace

Be a state of grace long in tooth.

 

     Except,

Except,

This wasn’t peace,

This was hell where they wouldn’t tell,

Wouldn’t let you know the blows

To humanity for fear you wouldn’t

Believe in false deities – those created

To keep an apathetic race

Unawares the power they deserve,

The power,

     The power ‘they’ reserve

For themselves.

 

     ‘MISTER JONES’S DOG FELL OVER TODAY!’

A sad time before Christmas,

A Christmas celebrated at different times

For different kinds of zealots,

Different kinds of bigots – smiling

Laughing – pleading in sad servitude

To be believed for ‘their’ belief;

Be the belief worthy of losing life,

 

     ‘MISTER JONES’S SON WAS BLOWN THE FEKK UP TODAY!’

A PASSER BY WITH A YOUNG FLEDGLING PINE TREE IN HAND,

TINSEL IN THE OTHER,

     AND FOR SOME

DISGUSTING REASON,

PERHAPS MY OWN COWARDLY

FEELINGS THROUGH NEGOTIATIONS

OF THE HATE SPREADING ACROSS

HUMANITY,

     I DIDN’T WANT TO ENGAGE NO MORE,

I’D HAD ENOUGH OF KEEPING UP WITH THE JONES’S;

I WANTED THE TRUTH I WAS SET HERE FOR,

BUT YEARNED IN ONLY MY DEATH.

 

Michael J Waite. 18th November 2015.