World War Three (a poem)
by M. Dennis Paul
For the past several weeks, I have been forced
to confront a seemingly ceaseless melancholy
of unknown origin.
Each day, I ask the same question of
What is so strong a force that this cloud cannot be rested
from my weary place of existence?
Each day, I see images in my heart that bring tears
and this is the only response I receive.
I have dealt with bouts of sadness throughout my life
as, no doubt, have many, many others.
The key, here, is that I have dealt with them.
Solved the puzzling and dispatched the blues post haste.
It is different now.
Dark clouds growing ever darker
and the heaviest of rains
falling upon my hard lifted head.
Looking deeper, as I must, I realize the images
are of a madness so profound that no remedy seems willing.
The eyes of world leaders,
so many I know to be sociopathic
( being polite as possible),
have, of late, become unavoidably recognized
as having become undeniably sinister.
Speeches undeniably concocted in the Ministry of DoubleSpeak and
filled with irrational rationales for death and destruction
on a global scale.
Endless droning of unmanned weapons of murder,
the modern birds of prey,
circle above starving masses and,
tired of the death watch,
extract what little life is left in the betrayed
with poisonous droppings launched
with applauded inaccuracy.
Leaders spitting venom at each other
through angered messengers.
Nations being destroyed and looted with the only reason being
because we can and
the blood of our kills keeps us young and vital.
Families dying of thirst and hunger
as food fills dumpster after land fill.
Families freezing to death, dying of exposure from heat,
from depleted uranium,
from man made gasses
and pools of vile chemical extirpators.
Cops becoming military troops against all sense
and killing with impunity the long minimized
young and tinted.
Hands up-don’t shoot making clearer targets
as opposed to changed thinking and logic.
My heart has been lifted, at times, by the cry of youth
and its return in some surviving elders as they point at the inanity
and lack of quality
but soon it is overtaken by
the chemically manipulated,
mass of fearful and dreadfully ignorant souls
who propagate the planet with inconsolable hunger
for new toys, status or invisibility.
Too many have come to mirror
the thousand mile stares of the insane
or the eyes and minds of the twisted double speakers.
Too many cheering the murders of innocents and innocence.
Too many voting for what they have been trained
is in their interest.
Too many swallowing ladles of detritus
and grinning in pride.
Happy they got to the trough before others.
Once, many years ago, an elder
veteran of a foreign war
told me he knew the war was coming
not just because of the language leaders were using
or that filtered through media
but because he felt this overwhelming melancholy,
with reason unknown.
And, he said,
the world as we knew it went to war
and nobody but the makers with their sinister eyes