Poem for Day 127 – 20150507
A hundred cats running in directions separate,
each on its way, surety in kind,
a hundred outcomes, each an answer,
no single direction agreed on.
See the felines, victims all,
conspiracies inflected on each,
scramble for cover, duck and weave,
weaponize for action retaliatory.
When the hammer is the answer,
to subjugate errant concerns,
who will be the nail, the one to bang,
when those in the right are the tool?
All are soldiers, mix in the generals,
form the armies, battle the only tool,
to war is the only apparent outcome
when the hammer is the answer.
Foundation be damned, center be cursed,
cohesion is the glue most evil
that holds together a sad world
ready for a firm guiding hand.
When the solution is destruction,
removal of discordant the only path,
what is left in the resulting dust,
will the center hold together?
No prisoners taken, no truce flags honored,
the best enemy is a dead one,
under the hammer, tool at hand,
world made better without the likes of you.
Field of corpses, cats of all stripes and shades,
laid down by the righteous, honor intact,
as the wind whispers to deaf ears,
tears invisible to blank eyes, a eulogy of the right.
Truce in the war, allow the dust to settle,
imposed by lack of combatants,
the cause continues ever on,
but there is no one left to fight.
The center is no more, survivor scattered to the wind.
Cats have their ways, imposed solitude.
No middle ground, save a place for corpses,
when the center fails for frightened felines.
© 2015. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved