"weaponries" poems
i see the marchers of the trees,
i see the marchers of the seas,
they fall in line with weaponries,
knowing someday they will be missed.
as i stand in line i'm paralyzed,
i ask myself is it worth the price?
have i got nothing to lose?
will i make myself a bit of truce?
i will make myself a noose
don't worry, it will be loose,
the marchers are entering the doors,
of the ships and the planes,
it starts to rain.
i hide under a tree,
the rain found a way to pour on me.
i camouflage myself in the sea,
it's colder and harder to breathe.
high on the mountain,
i see the marchers look at me with concern.
from the bottom of the water,
a message in the bottle from the marchers.
"choose your line, is it up or down? is it high or low, or hanging at the equator just about unsure. is it forward or backward, or stay and build a fort?"
take me up, seal the door.
i don't want to march here anymore.
thought i knew what i'm marching for,
i'm not a marcher anymore.
Jan 17, 2018
Jan 17, 2018 at 8:52 AM UTC