Sample Text

a rhyming poem about gun violence

It seems that love should counteract
what must be b*****d specs of hate.
And, shouldn't hopefulness distract
from vicious deeds we contemplate
when egos, seeping rage, inflate
to drown a heart in moods, so cold;
a life prepared to detonate...
What comforts lurk in murder's fold?

What comforts lurk in murder's fold
for broken minds, fogged up and cracked,
compassions drained and reason holed, 
convictions thundering to act,
renouncing law and common pact;
for sure to silence the debate
when arguments aren't met with fact, 
but metal tooled to devastate.

What comfort lures from righteous rage,
from tantrums, raving all we want,
the shattered bars of virtue's cage,
as beastly man goes on his hunt,
to take a life, a weakling's stunt;
A manchild grinning to his ears,
so sure he's proved he's not the runt, 
that he can overcome his fears.

Yes, he can overcome his fears,
but not his pride and anger, no,
he's tangled up in his own gears;
each turning tick leaves less to show,
each twisted act leaves less to know
of innocence beneath the sun,
where blood can chill and passions flow,
and anyone can shoot a gun.

Author's Note

It's a bit obscure. I started writing this soon after a man with a rifle attacked a nightclub in Orlando, FL, 6-12-2016.
Please let me know what you think.

Reviews

[Coyote Poetry]

My father killed in wars and in life. Was a violence man. He was a Mexican/Ojibwa in a white man world. I saw the dead cities and the faces of the leftover people of war. They did not hold fear. They held hate. You may kill the father, but the son will remember. Terror was birth by large countries going to and bombing cities and create separation. Who to blame?
"What comfort lures from righteous rage,
from tantrums, raving all we want,
the shattered bars of virtue's cage,
as beastly man goes on his hunt,
to take a life, a weakling's stunt; "
I told people often. The terrorist is where you are standing. If a country send 500,000 soldiers into another country. Who is the terrorist? My father lived on the street and ran gangs. Hate and anger was his righteous path. Only place my father knew peace was war. He did two tours in Korea and one in Vietnam. They improved the monster. Last line is true. Anyone can shoot a gun. What do you tell a Middle East child without home and shelter. Know peace. The destroyers came to create peace. A powerful poem my friend. Wars will end when large countries stay home. Send food, water and medicine. Not bombs, guns and soldiers.
Coyote

[mattavelli]

Thank you for reading, Coyote! :)
You've seen terrible things. Do you think the wars will end soon?

[Coyote Poetry]

No. It will get worst. Half of the USA is on welfare of a sort. We need strong leaders. This election???

[mattavelli]

The republican party is killing itself. maybe the Dems will take control of congress. Maybe they will make changes. Maybe I'm dreaming...

[Coyote Poetry]

I have no idea. This is the worst election of my lifetime. USA could be in deep trouble.

[Carolynn]

I think you did an amazing job, not only of delivering a very powerful message but mastering a great flow or rhythm and rhyme to go along with it. I felt the anger and the disgust as I read it - great job Mattavelli

[mattavelli]

Thank you, Carolynn! :)
I'm lucky to live in a country where we can all have guns and feel safe from imaginary bad guys. Too bad there are real bad guys out there too. They've spoiled the system...