GodlessA Poem by David Lewis PagetHe was often at the market Signing books that no-one read, If they had, and known the target Then they’d not be lying dead. For the mystic glyph inscriptions Pointed men towards their fate, He would say, ‘You’d better read them Or perhaps you’ll be too late.’ But he seemed so insignificant They wouldn’t heed his words, Threw his books in their collections So they wouldn’t be disturbed. For the few who really read them Dived right in and turned the page, Suffered instant palpitations that Expressed themselves in rage. Though they didn’t realise, he was A god from outer space, Who had come down with his minions To save the human race, But the human brain had limits that Could not absorb much more, Than the irritants that stimulate And lead them off to war. It came to pass that leaders heard, Surrounded him with trucks, And trying to suppress the word They seized, and burned his books. They didn’t want the people having Knowledge, at the least, That could interfere with politics And might burst out in peace. The dollar ruled that ammunition, Bombs that could be lobbed, And hand grenades, and tank displays They all came down to jobs. And so they closed the market down To end the sale of books, That warned about conscription, and Aspiring army cooks. And so the god from outer space Climbed back in his machine, He’d tried to help the human race, The human race was mean. He took on board his minions And said, ‘It’s getting late,’ Engaged the afterburners and Then left us to our fate. David Lewis Paget
© 2017 David Lewis PagetFeatured Review
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