Monday Poem

A Sprawl of Cemeteries

Blood for blood is in our bones,
the bass line of a ceaseless requiem.

Justice screams carpe diem,
but none of the dead are soothed
as the living gloat and hoot, or wail
Why did it have to be her, or him?

Satisfaction’s not been found
in the pages of our “Good Books”.
Why blood and honor have been spun
into semantical squalls of scriptures
torn by the cyclone of our double helix
to supersede love— why is anybody’s guess.

Why is left to be lived by those who simply believe
that death for death, or death for turf, or death for wealth
yields no more than a sprawl of cemeteries.

by Jim Culleny, 5/2/11
Rev: 3/9/22, Rev:2/4/24; ad infinitum