To the Plastic Bag of Broken Guitar Strings
To the Plastic Bag of Broken Guitar Strings
There you go again:
Reciting beautiful words
That no one cares about.
My broken mouth waits impatiently;
Your swift fingers sewed it shut
Before I could really get going …
But don’t think I have nothing to say,
This is just the beginning
Of your chartreuse hypocrisy.
The blithe girlhood mask
That suppresses my anger
Is wearing thin at the edges.
You had no right to permit
The dead and dying generations
To take my future with them.
The way my textbooks make
Even dictatorship sound pleasant
Is a reflection of your limpid weakness.
Look what you’ve done:
Your power
Has burned your eyes
With its self-actualizing might.
Look around us:
The trees scream and try to deny
But they cannot look past how
You set the world on fire.
Can’t you see?
Can you believe your eyes?
Are you as angry as me?
Look what you’ve done!
Look at the bodies piling beside
Your ochre intentions.
This is the burden you bear.
And so I shall save each penny, write each song,
Every word, every minute
To the lost potential
Of the plastic bag of broken guitar strings
Waiting on the curb; their story written in memory
Tired, and resting.
The Voice
December 2024
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To the Plastic Bag of Broken Guitar Strings
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