Mirror, From The

Two There, to Where
run wild the children —
others walk (on bored) while we talk (without cords)
too much on that,
lay bare the morals, basing the best face, (sacrificing, poorly),
portraying the ways of the should’s, could’s, and would’s . . .
“For the Young, always” — a phrase wrung dry,
rings rung to the false Hearing-Impaired
who would care but can’t afford to leave their
shelters to recollect, call collections colonies,
denounce echoes while pronouncing reflections to be married in mud
to the same misgiven sins, synonyms.
Collective responsibility for collateral damage —
With what image in time is this rhymed?
For the Greater Good, switch attention
from the time preceding that rolled seconds and folded upon itself
until it was but a point out of time
to the time surrounding right after the moment it unfolded and exploded
and the focus, for us, went to the Lesser Evil.
“In the name of this Hater, this Hoodlum,
some unknown few threw a few stones at our
superior (well paid for) weapons of defense.
Therefore, all of the familiar you’s are, by Law,
no longer allowed to work up at your (at our) near minimum wage jobs.”
This is the lesson you live for. Retell. Retaliation.
Didn’t get it? You’re blind —
Trust me. Don’t look behind;
those mirrors are simply some careless child’s misplaced toys, misused
for the purpose of admiring herself with her plastic dolls and all; you know,
silly make-believe, mismatch, size-up game society is sure to make her grow out of.
But your mature-future is here; and from any time since,
just pretend that at your core (in your guts) you understand the standards.
Convey your sympathy this way:
Lay your loyalties over there, by and among the shards.
by Harambee Grey-Sun
(Mr. Harambee Grey-Sun is a poet who resides in Northern Virginia.)