I Don't Want to Sing the Blues

 

Most of what I have written,

as of late,

has to do with my bewilderment

and anger,

at some of my own… kind.

 

Which I’m hesitant to associate

with since they,

do not resemble in any shape or

form... my kind

of people.

 

I’m annoyed that my own writing,

has to reflect that bewilderment.

I’d rather write about love, and sex,

drinking till four o’clock in the morning,

and dancing in the silvery streaks

of moonlight.

 

And yet, every day, I hear something

new, about the dastardly deeds

done in the name of some obscure

and morally corrupt belief system,

to the point that I no longer

want to hear, at all.

 

I don’t want to read the news,

I don’t want to sing the blues,

I don’t want to have to choose,

I don’t want to lose,

I’ve already paid my dues.

 

Yet the terrors of the world

pummel my senses,

and I’m held hostage by my

disgusted astonishment,

at phony outrage and

moral jingoism.

 

Oh look, flowers blooming

in the Spring sunshine,

how nice,

I hope

they

make

it.

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