WROTE THIS WITH A LOT OF ANGER. NOT SURE IF i AM ANY MORE PEACEFUL THAN THOSE I WROTE ABOUT…
What makes a war?
I get it when you say
Young men
And now young women
Should refuse to carry a gun
But that is victim-blaming
War is a social class problem
Poor youth, no job, no education
Join the service and the government
Pays for college, food, shelter
You get the magic beans for the price of your life
Mystery fans know
That murders are solved
By figuring out
Who benefits
Look at the many suspects:
Military-Industrial Complex
Super wealthy want war
Winning territory or oil
Politicians clamoring
For more
Reelection under the guise of patriotism
Most misunderstood word in the
English language
Bankers line their dragon-caves with gold
War enables merchants to become wealthier
Junk yard dealers selling rusted metal for weapons
Factories producing uniforms from fabrics
So-called food needed in cans and plastic packages
Benefits the huge farming conglomerates
Journalists who no longer report the truth
Ignoring the Double-Yous of
Who, What, Where, When, Why
Just talking, pretty faces of ignorance
Snapping soon-to-be photoshopped
Award-winning pictures of children
Blown to bits
But never lifting their voices to just say STOP
And the grieving goes on for
Spouses, partners, children
For aging grandparents and parents
Losing their babies to
Death, dismemberment or
Post-trauma hauntings of the mind
War is a class-thing
And as always
The lower class pays the highest
Retail price
Who is the enemy?
Most are like us
Wanting to shop on Ebay or Amazon
Wanting to rock out to current music
Wanting to love and laugh in nature
Caveat:
Don’t hate the Arabs
Don’t hate the Israelis
Don’t hate the Irish
Don’t hate the British
Don’t hate the Africans
Don’t hate the Hispanics
The victims are people like me
And you
Any more I tremble from
Lightning strikes in my back yard
House-shaking from thunder
But no way can I ever comprehend
A baby’s fear
As bombs explode
Interrupting their dreamy sleep
Waking, screaming
Because the boogie man isn’t
Hiding under the bed
Or in the closet
The boogie man is flying through the sky
Infiltrating to make them die
Physically, spiritually
So the survivors grow up
Losing their humanity
Whatever the current definition is
For that old-fashioned word
I look at my box of Sixties souvenirs
Peace necklaces that still retain
My sweat and tears
From my bleeding seventeen-year-old heart
ERA badge from the Eighties
Equal Rights Amendment
I campaigned for it
But women told me
They didn’t want to share a bathroom with men
Sound familiar, trans-gender people?
Homo sapiens
So unwise
TV has muddled the mind
That really needs to be nourished
Like a feed-the-masses sprout
Reaching toward the sun and rain
Instead of being blindingly
Dazzled by the beautiful and rich
Brainwashing the audience
Dictating what people should think
All geared to elevate those
Ruled by greed and gluttony
Go inward and contemplate what is really important in each precious life…
© 2016 Clarissa Simmens (ViataMaja)
IMAGE: My peace jewelry worn when idealism existed
