At the edge the land, the sky and the ocean below she stands,
A brief moment of freedom during flight.
A chance to ask God for forgiveness,
Only accelerating to an end.
Upon the rocks below to be set free,
My God from this prison she had made for herself.
Hounds baying at her heels,
The dogs of commerce clamoring for her very flesh.
"All they want is money", she once had said to herself.
Just a fleeting millennia of sailing like a bird,
The feeling appealed to her more each moment.
They now stand on the precipice peering over onto the rocks and murmuring,
“I just cant figure out why she would go and do a thing like that.
You know, towards the end she was acting very strangely.
She did some things that scared me and my wife half to death.
She’s been a different woman since that September day“.
She didn’t jump actually, a throng of people who despised her had come to watch her jump,
The crowd was so large she was simply pushed over the edge.
A silence fell on the stunned humanity gathered there,
And only one lone cry was heard,
“Oh My God, America!! What shall we do now”?
America, call the Marines, all of them young and old, the Veterans and the combat disabled, you know what everybody knows, "the first to fire a shot and the first to fall, never, ever leaving one man behind, Marines are always ready to kick ass"
There's nothing really to say about America now, except to pray and hope the best will come out of this election. Quite frankly, none of the candidates seems to be right for the job. Perhaps it's just the timing and everything that is going on, and you just don't know what is good anymore. America just have to sit back and hope for the best.
Chilling, heartbreaking poem, very well penned, Walt: reminds me of the time me and my Mom, Dad and twin sis went to Niagara Falls. There was a young woman sitting past the safety zone, on a spit of land against the precipice. Looked like she was painting something. The policeman hollered, "Hey, what are you doing?" and went to try to help her. She stepped into the water and was jerked over the edge: what she'd been painting? She was writing a suicide note. Grabbed Mom, turned her toward me; Daddy did the same with Karen; I saw her go into the rocks, head first...I was 14 years old when I saw that happen.
Re: your poem: will someone be charged with the crime of pushing her off the edge?
Dear readers, this is my third book of poems, and inside are a special collection of what have turned out to be not only MY personal favorites, but also the favorites of many of YOU. Some of these have never been available in print before...
Early Works is an exhaustive compilation of the first decade of the poems and stories of Z.B.McClure. Included are family photos, rare personal photos, photos of 1st draft manuscripts of many of his early poems. Also some biography and memoir materia
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Love Tinka
ribit~
Fee
Semper Fidelis
(just call, America, we are ready)
Georg
Excellent use of metaphor!
Love,
ET
A very creative poem.
Sandie Angel :o)
Edwin
Re: your poem: will someone be charged with the crime of pushing her off the edge?
(((HUGS))) and love, Karla. :(