Short Poems – The Poetry Of J.P.

Lullaby

We are living in Orwell’s mind,
while Huxley sings his lullaby

From the doves that pepper the somber sky
to the slate that ashen’s the dappled day

We have engaged in a silence
so profound, it approaches stupidity;

They came, they saw,
and they conquered;
we stayed and witnessed,
and they abused us.

I will not be remembered,
not in the history classes
or in the breath
that fogs rose colored glasses
when widows weep at dawn.

Reading the newspaper:
It said, new material blacker

Liberty’s wields her sword
in most imperceptible ways,

To destroy is to be human,
we’d sell the sun to buy a candle;

The Reaper’s cloak swooshes across the road.
A feeling of doom sweeps over my bones,
I hear the sound of sharpening up in my throat,

The re-inspection
of words, that were his, or his,
is often entombed
in the backlash