Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com  
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

                          The Number of the Beast is .556

“This is my rifle. There are many like it”
Because they fall off assembly lines everywhere
Probably even in the Khyber Pass
And frankly, son, you don’t need the ****** thing

A rifle is not your friend; it is a mechanical thing
A rifle is an engine of destruction
It is made for killing your fellow humans
The last one alive wins madness and guilt

You never made the first day of boot camp
          (neither did John Wayne)
You need to know what John Wayne never knew:
A .556 disintegrates a child
A .556 vaporizes your soul

556

The Brain, within its Groove
Runs evenly—and true—
But let a Splinter swerve—
’Twere easier for You—

To put a Current back—
When Floods have slit the Hills—
And scooped a Turnpike for Themselves—
And trodden out the Mills—

Demons roaming in my mind
I had only one Angel
To defend myself
Every demon has a weapon
But my Angel holding light
Light which can **** darkness
Light which can give me knowledge
Light which is powerful and
Can defend me from demons
Control is only with me
Demons offering their weapons
Like Wrath, Avarice, Sloth, Pride, Lust, Envy, and Gluttony
Decision is in my hands
I would like to choose you my Angel
Show your power and
Defend me from all those
Demons.

She knelt on her carpet
in her new living-room,
A big cardboard box
in front of her,
unwrapping ornaments

It has been exactly ten days
since her mother left,
A small black hole
in her heart,
unravelled her

The rest of the family is out
enjoying the day,
the tall green tree
next to her
stands bare

No Christmas music, movies
or fire this year,
the bright happy memories
behind her now
break her

(s.s)

My apologies for leaving this empty earlier. Last night I wrote a bit of doggerel criticizing unhappy men who obsess on weaponry. Then the news about the horrors in Lewiston, Maine was broadcast and I withdrew the lines lest the words appear to be frivolous and thus hurtful. I stand by my no-nonsense thesis, though: no one needs one of those ////ed semi-automatic testosterone compensations that fire military rounds.

And no thoughtful man or woman need tolerate for a moment any whatabouts and all the pointless arcana about assault rifles vs. civilian rifles, automatic vs. semi-automatic, magazine vs. clip, and blah, blah, blah.

I was in Viet-Nam.

I know exactly what .556 and 7.62 rounds will do to an adult or a child, and the name of the gun (yeah, I know, "shoulder-fired, gas-operated, blah, blah, and blah") doesn't change anything.

Your grandfather's old J. C. Higgins shotgun is a wonderful thing for bagging supper and eliminating predators. A shiny (they come in Barbie colors now) .556 is good only for inflicting death and suffering on our fellow pilgrims on this earth.

Once life

Seems to be

Impossible

Being far from you

But,as time flooded

I became matured

And,I realized

May be

You're cruel

To leave me alone

But,life is too much

Giving me company

Whether I need it or not

How can I make it believe?

I'll better to be die!

Far living with a lie

That you're my

You'll be only my-Written on 06.09.2012,Thursday

Once life
Seems to be
Impossible
Being far from you
But,as time flooded
I became matured
And,I realised
May be
You're cruel
To leave me alone
But,life is too much
Giving me company
Whether I need it or not
How can I make it believe?
I'll beter to be die!
Far living with a lie
That you're my
You'll be only my-Written on 06.09.2012,Thursday

Like ink on parchment your lies flow into my ear
Speaking beautiful pretence, with such confidence
I wish I knew if it was true, yet I can't seem to find
Why you fill me with so much diffidence

I cannot be certain
or see beyond
this sea of grief
as I mourn the
slow erosion of
empathy and love.

I know that
kindness
and decency
still exists,
but violence
and corruption
is far more evident.

The earth is suffering
as are her children,
and no matter how much I wish
I cannot will them
back from the precipice
many seem to want to
stand on.

This could be
humanity’s
last revelation,
with no more good to come
just the mess of mad men
who run us all in
to the burial grounds.