World War Three (a poem) by M. Dennis Paul

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

the universe..

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

for humanity

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 inequality

and lack of quality

but soon it is overtaken by

the chemically manipulated,

media lobotomized

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

to believe

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,

seemingly ceaseless

with reason unknown.

And, he said,

the world as we knew it went to war

and nobody but the makers with their sinister eyes

knew why.


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