Seconds From Allepo….

Well, well what the hell
wouldn’t you just know it,
Of all the dreams we
humans have,,,,,,
My dream is that of poet.

To convey the pure texture of a word,
hold an entire audience in a single pause.
Shape a sentence till an edge is blurred,
reinvigorate a most worthy cause.

Poetry must encapsulate all the above,
encourage faint hearts to brave new feats.
Carry a message of Wuthering Heights love,
move the battle for peace onto the streets.

Enliven the flow of a beautiful stream,
not just give a meandering river story.
Excite the eager child to dream,
of his or her future, full of glory.

“Wow here is Aleppo a city from our deep
dark past, a collection of souls they’ve tried
to hide. Turning there ruined live to dust
with every blast, while the world goes
along for the ride.”

Didn’t we hurrah them as they died,
throwing their bodies behind the gun.
Another middle east giant being defied,
loved their bravery, but now no longer fun.

Foreign politicos couldn’t wait to board,
shouting so loud from the lectern distant.
Started out so well as the cavalry roared,
man what an Arab spring, over in an instant.

What’s the point of power unwisely used,
as a mighty west retreats like scolded dog.
I guess there’s no oil rights to be abused,
safe at home we can always burn another log.

I can’t say ‘twas down to me or you,
that all that blood and guts got spilled.
But I can certainly say one thing is true,
vacuous hours on our TV news, gets filled.

And so I return to the life I dream of,
where pretty words make perfect sense,
or not on a page, I guess there’s just so
much one can do with pretence, perhaps
if I write I’ll rid myself of this incurring
rage.