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The Make-Up of Molecules

Make (of) Me A Snow Angel

Threading Myself Through The River Called Night

Dragons

HOW



EVENTUALLY...

THERE WILL BE MORE ...

At Night I Dream of Vampires Who Have No Bad Intentions

morning thoughts (begin again)

Human History is Pockmarked With Tragedy

Unseen, The Lilacs And The Daffodils

Nothing's Sadder Than A Rose

A Man Of The Clouds

The Cruel In The World (Blue Bag Metaphor)

Somtimes in Surrender

Encounter Before Dawn

Shedding Your Skin

Liminality

A Smattering Of Mattering (How Do You Matter)

NEEDING /KNEADING MORE (sometimes)

WHAT WILL YOU THINK GENTLE READER, AFTER YOU'VE FINISHED READING THIS?...We Are All Star Children

Not My Season

I Will Return

Like The Wind In The Middle Of The Night

The Hoping

Better To Bend Than Be Broken (CHANGE)

Belle Du Jovan

The Hope Of All These Things Which Would Never Come In a Box

The Best Revenge (For All Your Critic's Critiques)

Informed Through Pain

All Too Clearly Now

The Birds Are Such Un-numbering Creatures of Distant Hitchcockian Past

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Human History is Pockmarked With Tragedy


human history is pockmarked
with tragedy
some so great
and some small--
none are small

how is it that I am
no longer safe
comforting myself
unable to wipe the dried
tears from the corners
of my tired eyes

why is there an expired vial
of medicine in the refrigerator
nearly four years after HE has gone

I search my heart for a picture of him
to give me comfort--
most times I find him there
yet it is often,
not enough

humans are odd creatures
simultaneously sentimental and cruel
fool-hardy and obeying but without rules
or perhaps those who only apply indiscriminately
at the dictator's indulgence
or with the prevailing favorable winds
brothers don't forgive brothers
when they are different
mothers and daughters wear petty resentments
like badges and outfits
siblings and parents and children
are forgotten
as the live alone outside
floundering and foraging to get by
some die in the cold forgotten
until they are found


Guernica
the Red Revolution
Tustis and Hutus
Poltpot and His Killing Fields
Pinochet dropping his enemies from airplanes
Death camps and Gulags are a cold fixture of life
in Russia and in China and in North Korea
Elephants murdered for ivory when there are stockpiles
One Coyote dies every minute
Wolves and Bears hunted with explosives
And America lets murderers come to us
and get all the medical help they need
others we let fly fly away


Old Men and Kings and Queens and Presidents
decreeing wars while young men and boys
become fields where poppies grow

now deliberate disease
and we scoff and exclaim
we've have not seen something like this and so....
others have
and it has left scars
and legions of skulls
and deep mournful silence in its wake

sometimes I feel
all of this is much too much to take
I would rather be an animal
there seems to be so much more
dignity in that

at least now they have a reprieve
from us
I would lay odds
they are much happier

human history is pockmarked
with tragedy
so much of it unnecessary
so much of it planned
so much of it watched
observed
and a known quantity
while we are manipulated
into believing the message

they are wrong
no one life is a statistic
no one life is meaningless
every time someone dies
especially every time an animal dies
the world is forever changed

see how the little of explosions
of light
that are souls
make silent fireworks
there are no brief candles
The Great Spirit
knows and cherishes all.


LEGAL COPYRIGHT FOR THIS POEM 11:03 am 4/16/2020
TIME AND DATE STAMPED AND ALSO FOR THIS WRITER
MELISSA A. HOWELLS
AND ALSO FOR THIS LEGALLY COPYRIGHTED SITE TITLE
MELOO STRAIGHT FROM HER TILT-A-WORLD

STRAIGHT FROM THE LIGHT OF MY HEART TO THE PAGE

I AM AWARE THERE ARE MISPELLINGS OF CERTAIN ETHNIC GROUPS HERE
IF YOU CAN ENLIGHTEN ME, GO AHEAD. WHAT IS MORE IMPORTANT TO
ME IN THIS MOMENT IN TIME IS MY MESSAGE...EDITS CAN BE MADE LATER ON.





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