Daily Archives: August 8, 2014

Modern Apocalypse Rag

Originally posted, 8/31/2009.  Original version was found in old notes; apparently, this was written in 1976, when  I was 16 years old.  I’ve modified it very little, mostly to create end-rhyme breaks and clear up a little weirdly vague imagery that seemed like the result of youthful incompetence versus originality.

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We all stomp round and round. 
We rage at sky, at ground. 

We hunt and peck and scream. 
We hate, we fear, we dream. 

We honor corpses’ names,
then rip ourselves with games.

The trees know we don’t care
for sea, or fish, or air. 

We strike at those we loathe.
We sleep we those we love.

We can’t tell them apart. 
We turn that into art.

We drink our salty tears. 
We do this all our years. 

We spend our time on pain.
Our children do the same. 

We hope, but hope’s a lie.  
We live, we wait to die. 

We lie down, glad to sleep. 
When we’re gone, few will weep.