Nascent Scream

There is a nascent scream

forming in my throat

its origin runs deep

within the labrynth of

my psyche,

embedded in the fabric of

my persona,

beneath the scaffolding that

supports the beating of my heart

intermingled with my breath.

I’ve endured for far too long

the pathetic nature of the

human condition,

the endless stream of senseless violence

that circumnavigates the globe,

pointless murders based on

an infrastructure of crazed logic

embellished with religious beliefs

that tolerate no answer except the

ridiculous ones purported to come out of

the mouth of psychotic deities,

untimely deaths of men, women children,

victims of ludicrous struggles for power

wrought by nations that seek nothing but plunder

disguised as self-righterousness.

I’ve lived through too many wars,

too numerous to detail,

too horrid to contemplate,

too stupid to be believable,

wars that have grinded bodies

to dust,

buried alive thousands too

weak to resist,

wars that have wasted entire cities,

turned civilization to rubble,

sent mothers and their children

to screaming deaths,

wars that sacrificed reason and intellect

to the desire for oblivion and ruin,

wars that have murdered hope and

offered free license to despair,

wars that thwart human progress and

consign many to an early grave,

wars that unwind the clock of the future,

launching history into the

darkness of the dreaded past.

I’ve grown weary of the

endless streams of nonsense that

fill the bandwidth of the present with

tidal waves of petty thoughts and

nearly useless information.

I’ve come to tire of the

misuse of language,

vocal chords no longer the

gateways to our minds,

words strung together haphazardly in

nonsensical arrays,

communication no longer a tool for

exploration of self and other,

all has become insufferable vanity.

There is this nascent scream

lodged within the signature of my

innermost self,

brief sojourn of life so delicate and

wondrous,

turned into a shadow play

filled with circus and

steeped in illusion.

Reality has become sidelined,

the trumpets sound,

the noise deafening,

humanity herded into

a vast and perplexing hall of mirrors

where all protest is muted and

within the blazing lights of a

multitude of artificial suns,

what is essentially black and dismal

seems somehow golden,

young and agile children

armed with baskets

filled with a bounty of ornaments

disperse wondrous arrays of color

without substance,

fill the domed enclosure

shrouded from the incessant darkness

with idle and cheerful songs.

Dread has become enshrouded by apathy,

fear by pitiful amusement,

architects of the future

have crafted a world

impossible for humanity to endure.

This nascent scream

nesting within my belly

is an incipient cry of anguish

over all the needless suffering

carried by so many for

no acceptable reason,

for all the mindless insanity.