In The Fields of Hate I Wandered

 

In the fields of hate

I wandered…

I counted severed skulls, charred bodies

mementos strewn about…

I smelled blood

way too fresh, too red

dark red…

I took two steps back.

 

We review and revisit the events and wonder – what has gone wrong? / hlntv.com

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Only to catch a wider view

Nay, too vivid…

a field enveloped by dark despair

the sky’s too unforgiving to think —

salvation is at all possible.

Everywhere I looked

bespoke of trespass and horror —

everything is base, vile and low.

 

Why didn’t I think of it before

that anger could be sown

planted and grown?

That distance, discord and drift —

could be harvested, collected

placed in a neat vessel?

To be given back as revenge –

violence dressed as militance.

 

Humans are born alone

trapped in bodies too weak or too severe.

Raised by lingering doubts —

worked up, waned and warped by experiences

fueled by creeping sorrows.

Disappointments – too many for mention

dreams are woven and shattered

on a daily basis.

 

When does pain begin to petrify?

How is longing transformed —

into an image of the cold?

The path from gladness to madness

to tread that track –

rather too easily, a child’s play…

Want suppressed become pure hatred

to a man burdened – with murder at heart.

 

Everyone is suspect

everything is disposable

appetite for destruction revved up

with each step, with each conquest…

Lunacy is oft methodical

careful and systematic

wrath must spare no one —

to cut, to break, to slit into pieces.

 

What is it like to be in a battle?

Is it true – all those deafening sounds

the explosions, the confusion, the rush?

Do men gather to defend the borders

do women bewail and bemoan

the death of children and infants

are fences really driven over

do animals scamper about?

 

In the heart of hearts of men is the longing for peace/ celestonews.com

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

So it happens, sadly so –

the burning, the shooting

the public display of the defiant

rape, pillage and plunder…

We’ve been taught

these are things of the past

we are civilized now – sophisticated

blood and gore belong to the barbarians.

 

But I looked around

and saw for myself

this vast incomprehensible creation

an artwork beyond compare —

ghastly, avant-garde, extraordinaire…

a cacophany of lives left behind in a hurry

a shocking display of things lying around —

to be erased, forgotten, never to be remembered.

 

Many young lives are suddenly over. Will we be able to explain the loss to the living  children? / http://thelede.blogs.nytimes.com/

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In the fields of hate, I wandered

and learned about fear and its companions.

Take my hand

there’s a chance, albeit slim

the way to peace is possible…

though

it maybe

far… 🙂

 

The way to peace is a hard, uphill road – for leaders and members alike/ jamaica-gleaner.com

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

* This poem was written a year ago, a few days after Christmas after a very unfortunate incident. It is being published here as a sympathy post to the Connecticut shooting – condolence to the bereaved parents, siblings and to humanity – for the incalculable loss and sufferings…

 

** The piece is copyrighted. If sharing or republishing, please link it back here and give credit to the author. For permission to reproduce, please write to onholdcynicism@yahoo.com. Thanks. 🙂

 

*** The next post will be about gratitude. It will be a short one, promise…

 

Wishing everybody a peaceful Christmas on the day said to be the end of the world – as we know it…. 😉