What must they have felt?
The bright harvest ball, beaming
Their hope for plenty,
Dimming so slowly, such
Agonizing slowness, taking hope
To scarlet smear and a worse than
Darkness doubting their eyes,
Silencing their night sounds,
Did they feel crazy, did they
See crazy anyway, anywhere?
We conjure demons without
Sighting some actual something,
For
We have demons enough within
Us
To know their natures, their
Familiar.
Blood moon,
HA! simple
Science,
You see.
But they who cowered,
They are in us, yes,
Even though we shove them
down they rise still in
Our fears, yes, they believed
Then, because sometimes
They were right enough
Sometimes.
YOU ARE READING
Poetry
PoetryTHIS POEM SITUATES CONTEMPORARY LIFE AS A GROWTH EXPERIENCE, NOT A CONTEMPLATION OF WHAT MIGHT BE. IT DENIES THE 20TH CENTURY NOTIONS OF BEING AND NOT BEING.
