Here is a poem I am working on: Fine I am fine, how are you? Fine you say. We smile and move on. We are both lying, neither one of us is fine. Yet everyone we meet, we play this false game. Why do we do this? Are we to busy to say what is really going on? Are we lying to ourselves as well? Are we Avoiding the truth? Things are not “fine”. Unless environmental degradation is fine, Unless being a wage and debt slave is fine, Unless endless war is fine, Unless broken families are fine Unless historic rates of incarceration are fine, Unless gmo’s are fine. Unless fear instead of love is fine. There is a sense of disquietude in the land, and also inside of ourselves. It seems to large to deal with, so we say it is fine. We are like the fabled ostrich, sticking our heads in the ground, or the monkeys who cant see, hear, or speak of this evil. We are meant to be much more. And yet we continue to live in a world of lies.
Posted on: Fri, 20 Sep 2013 16:34:17 +0000
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