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And a time of madness came to be
when hatred dominated men
who set the dire war dogs free
whose howls echoes through forest and fen.

Those howls drove reason from men's minds
turned brothers against one another
severing any tie that binds
even that of child and mother.

The age of false prophets arose
in each religion, every belief system
they deemed themselves the one true rose
labeling all others "them"

Men of peace were shouted down
then thrown to the angry mobs
which ravaged through 'most every town
with no regard for widows' sobs.

Until countries' leaders became mad
seeing only enemies all about.
they lost all sense of good and bad
and let the atomic genie out.

They burned awful mushrooms in the skies.
In flashes civilizations ended
and through the chaos and snuffed cries
the worst of mankind's evils wended.

Entire plains were turned to glass
whole forests blasted into dust.
The time of cities came to pass
their steel skeletons turned to rust.

Till at last too few remained to fight
on world wide or continental scale
and those still left saw only blight
in a world turned grey and pale.

Yet even these few still harbored hate
for all who dealt their loved ones death.
Half of these few were doomed by fate
to freeze as prolonged winter froze their breath.

Finally all eyes saw the Truth of things
all that really mattered was love and life.
True wealth dwelt within each bird that sings
and real value was a life without strife.

And from the ruins of each land
arose leaders making a new start
who kept this redemptive tale close to hand.
All were leaders had a poet's heart.

Style / type: 
Structured: Western
Review Request (Intensity): 
I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back
Last few words: 
Not real happy with title and open to suggestions
Editing stage: 


of the old song by Simon and Garfunkle, "Sound of Silence". How does that line go?
"And the words of the prophets on subway walls and tenement halls?" Many of the poet/song-writers have their beginnings in the ghettos and tenements. Sometimes, I think that it's a prerequisite, that poets and writers have to be poor or at least have their beginnings in poverty so that they really feel life. Boy, if that's the case, I should be ready for fame any day now! I've never stopped being poor! I'd tell you all about the ragged rhythm, but it wouldn't do much good, and it wasn't so horrible that I couldn't enjoy the poem. As to a suggestion on the title... I dunno, maybe
Deaf Motherfuckers? ~ Gee.

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"And the words of the profits were written on the subway walls" One of the best poems written in that time. It was just coincidental that it was set to music in my opinion. As to poverty being a prerequisite to writing...I never have considered myself poor but there are a lot of people richer in dollars than I am. But it may be that my wealth is of another sort. A few good friends, a saint of a wife and healthy children . And the stubbornness to keep at a task (such as Trying to write lol). And I know the scansion is off but I figured I can always see about tidying it up over time. Appreciate your visit........stan

author comment

is a really big topic, I guess we've all had some in our daily lives lately, thanks to the shared stupidity around the world- kinda the way it's always been really- I mean really what makes this century's politics so different from any other insane century? For me, and many others like Schopenhauer or Spinoza, or Aristotle for that matter, I do not see our time as any less filled with hate, false prophets, or mad leaders.
I accept your poem for what it feels, and the irony and sadness of it all, but the premise that the survivors of nuclear holocaust will be poets who will legislate in the new re-born planet is not developed enough for me. I would like to think the Truth of love and life could sustain us, but it will not. Because in truth we need conflict, challenge, and "purpose" or we also die, and cease to be human.
There are so many forces at work in our times, as the speed of change on our world increases.
I try to stay optimistic that the forces of technology will spread faster than global suicide as we redefine our new purpose as guardians of the planet, advances for richer and healthier lives, and explorers to the universe. Do we have a choice?

I'd rather learn from one bird how to sing
than teach ten thousand stars how not to dance
ee cummings

I had to make a choice with this poem about length. I'm aware that the subject requires more length to be covered well but I'm also aware of my tendency to ramble on and write poems so long that few read them. And what good is an unread poem? So I decided to write a poem which just scammed over the subject and give readers free rein to fill in the gaps with their own ideas.
As to the present state of the world....I'm old enough to vividly recall what things were like in the sixties : Political division running rampant. The Cuban missile crisis. Protests on campus and in the streets. All just like now. Thanks for your thoughts........stan

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