they suck the life out of the corpse-less dead filling them with lurid memorabilia for the tourists who walk among the tombstones of this graveyard city.
from tragedy we gladly inherit silver from the ole mint farm to place on the mantel of the patriotic.
ovine superstition the poetry of numbers suicide jacks and jackson origami: portents and prophesy that feed the need to hate and rejoice.
grieving widows spew forth tearful soliloquies clutching their orphaned children's faces on the covers of magazines.
the voiceless mourners seek not the velvet backdrop to act out their loss as the rest enjoy the candlelit festivities and commemorative stamps.
the looping footage proves futile as a ghost the real pain is forgotten on a fine autumn day.
A fine, crtitcal poem about the transitory quality of mourning and the way grief can be exploited.Especially liked the last verse,looping footage is great.Good write.
I am truly moved by this write..Mockingbird
I understand the angst and torment, this thing called life, can cause.
but, I think by the end, you really do see hope on that "fine autumn day" and realize
alas, I see...I finally see
our views on life and everyday living....must focus on the positive...embrace the smile and laughter around us...live each day to the fullest, and file all the garbage into the "don't sweat the small stuff" file...and remember" it's all small stuff".. "
Terrific write, MB
allen
This is a very powerful message...but I don't think it can shake the deep roots of hypocrisy...human beings are incorrigible...whether they need redemption is another question, but they sure are incapable of it.
You have employed amazing references here that symbolise the rot of society and the flow is natural too... amazing poetry here.. :-)
PS- is this a general description or refers to some particular day in history, you know, something that became a public spectacle?...forgive me for my ignorance..