Hopeless

It’s hopeless, you know —

everything is
pointless, there’s no
fault pinned on the right backs;

who is in charge, who pulled the pin,
who do I see about this, there’s no
good, what is this poison we’re being fed,
what is in the water, why are you
shooting me now and aiming later
or claiming hate, what’s this smoke
unchained to an obvious fire;

how is it that the news
has become an exquisite corpse,
a new exquisite corpse daily, and
why are you staring into such dead eyes 
while asking for solace — 

stop. All the same while,

people ask and talk
and cry about all these same things — 
people you’ve never met.  Let me
take you to them. When you meet them
you’ll embrace, you’ll clasp hands…then,

slowly at first
but with gathering, giddy speed,

you should stop calling
this pointless world
hopeless

and set to work.

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About Tony Brown

A poet with a history in slam, lots of publications; my personal poetry and a little bit of daily life and opinions. Read the page called "About..." for the details. View all posts by Tony Brown

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