Poem Thirty-Five

Ever been told that the depression wouldn't hold?
‘Some of those days ahead,’ they said, ‘It'll drift asleep and doze;’
‘One of these days,’ they repeat, ‘That dog'll be on the street;’
Rigid and blue, the cadavers stare on through,
Positioned in the kitchen, they say ‘hello’ to each guest;

Nothing inside;
Interest subsides;

Tests and issues trouble the psyche of a once charming mind;
Selling the blood to further their kind;
Incentive lacking where the patrols stream;
Xenophobia is a popular theme;
Existing only to nourish the fevers;

Nothing at all could have been said;
All is either long over-due or already dead;
Carving the smiles of the dying grievers;

Some day soon there will be no room;
Mothers and children will be torn in two;
Enough of this gore while wondering what could be in store;
Opening the eyes to hug the kind and say their goodbyes;
Protecting the deeds which they have sworn with their creeds;

Existing in this life only to exist at all,
Doesn't seem like a very good battle call;
Imagine a man screaming over and over,
Something that was just clover and clover;

Needing to find reason in life,
Even when there are many, like being a wife?
Don't things become monotonous when faced with repetition?
Don't people become chained under their animalistic superstitions?
Instinct and survival have taken originality away,
Hives of minds are now pressing to stay;

Eggs of man and animal stir inside fire,
Stumbling through the storage of thought and liars;
Oh! How many more combinations
Have been needling my patience?
Troubling and small, those words usually crawl;

So now the animal is set free from its binding;
Nothing within the gates was worth finding;
Anything it could have wanted was all out there;
Every one of them was without hair;
Many thought this was the issue;

Elsie was but a small girl of three,
Locked in the closet without a key;
Yelling and crying for a mother not seen;
Time passed and she began to scream;
Somedays the gardeners discover sinews.