Winter blues make old cartoons feel worn
again. Shaking stews in those most desparate
to escape. Most helpless in the weight of the
world rearing its ugly head past the parapets of
a child's snowfort. Banks of snow and softer
things. Breaking notes in the songs he sings. Listing
grows from the hayfever. Clawing past the branches
tangled to find a new thing to bask in. Humming
lights and masked gunmen, shooting at
anything loved, lost and loveless. Buys another
rifle from his friend in Waco. Makes another
tend to the way they live. The habits.
The connections. The severance.
Shock. Horror. Another chance to beg someone
to make it stop. Another chance to shift responsibility.
Another chance to slaughter. Another chance to watch
the slaughter. Another chance to breathe relief
that it's not me.
My dog's nose turns brown in the winter.
I found this out this morning. Discovery.
Recovery. Reprieve.
I can't. feel safe. in greed.
I want to. find peace in. the world weaved
but the solution
the solution, it's
it's hard to hear over
the static and cannons and cackling.
the panicked ones painted erratic.
the caring ones battered in attics.
the only ones left finding rights to turn to.
breaking their backs to the guns they hold true.
running for fun when the word is with you,
punishing those who don't fit the worldview.
The sun wakes from slumber to see the blood's still
dripping. The gun's still gripped by
a disillusioned underdog.
The plan still gripped by a rogue actor. The hands still
gripped by the devout donors,
never letting go to find an answer.
Gun violence is a vicious cycle. Guns run this country. It's gross, it's immoral and the only solution we seem to express is "praying for victims and families" and moving on. I hope one day we can stop this and put this thought and care into finding real solutions.
I hope this poem expresses my message well, and I hope to one day to live in a world that's at least a little more peaceful.
Thanks for reading.
Plate of Soup 