A poem contributed to Amerikaner.org by Bernard Dixon Massey. If you would like to contribute to the website, please email amerikanercontributions@proton.me
It’s an odd time when you find the threat of war trite.
What was once a vicious idea?
Something you read about as a kid
The horrors of the trenches. The bravery. The loss.
Impure yellow clouds that choked you and left you burnt and blinded.
Only to be blinded again.
Something you read about as a kid
The horrors of the tanks. The fire and the bombs.
Impure morals causing the greatest tragedy humanity has ever seen.
It’s all something you read about. Something you consume in through the soft glow of just over 4,000 pixels.
Certainly! The horror sinks in.
But the why never does.
It’s a question any child might ask, and no adult knows how to answer.
And then you find yourself here.
Living in the modern age, a time when history has been declared deceased by ever changing shadows.
It’s an odd time when you find history to be irrelevant
What was once a common idea?
Something you remember as a kid
The glory of the empire. The pagans. The church.
Impure morality that crumbled and decayed despite its heights.
Only to rise once more
Something you knew as a kid
The greatness of enlightenment. The advances and the beauty.
Impure revolutions causing a tragedy humanity would never live down.
It’s all something you know about. Something you feel in those dual helix twists and in the marrow of every bone.
Certainly! The reality sets in.
But the why never does.
It’s a question any child might ask, and no adult knows how to answer.
And then you find yourself here.
Living in the modern age, a time when beauty has been murdered by a privileged monolith.
It’s an odd time when you find your upbringing a lie
What was once a certain idea?
Something you remember as a kid
The banality of evil. The prisoners. The corpses.
Impure morals causing the greatest tragedy humanity has ever seen.
Only to be defied through time
Something you knew as a kid
The great death machine. The gas and crematorium.
Impure humans who helplessly fell into tragedy humanity completely ignored.
It’s all something you’ve heard about. Something that’s driven into your head, just like a hammer drives a nail.
Certainly! You will never forget.
But the why never does.
It’s a question any child might ask, and no adult knows how to answer.
And then you find yourself here.
Living in the modern age, a time when truth has been replaced with a ruse.
A modern age.
A time history dies gracefully. And the truth of beauty is nothing but a bloodied battlefield of lies. We find ourselves searching.
Where our concern became apathy.
Our empathy becomes distain.
Our altruist way falls into hate.
Our resignation becomes perseverance .
Our cynical way falls into stoic resolve.
Our fight has been found. Our war has been waged.