Room 101

A poem I wrote 10/11/10, with some revisions. Phrases had been tumbling around for a couple days but it came otherwise in a burst. I think it was sort of like my subconscious trying to find a different way to awake those around me when my usual engagement proved ineffective.

Room 101

I think I was numb, distracted.

Flashing images of great hits and catches.

Colorful animated laughs that somehow started getting replaced by drone blasts.

They hid the carnage and yet I kept looking,

Did I realize my name could get me on the next rendered flight booking?

Or perhaps that my sister married into a large Tunisian family.

I was at the wedding. It was a celebration of love.

Now the stamp in my passport seems treason enough.

I’ve heard the stories from the few who have survived.

How many will I name? Who will I implicate?

I know I’m human. I know I'll break.

Perhaps if I were a terrorist I would have something of value to say.

Anything to stop me from destroying those I would otherwise trade away.

One suitcase blast to leave a nation terrified.

Blind rage following the Shock and Awe,

Leaving me caged by rapidly passed law.

And of all things I find myself writing again,

Poems by a quirky gnome priestess of a fantasy game.

Until I awake at 5am needing to write all this down,

A need to share this here or drown.

Will people stand up and turn away?

Like to Chris Hedges’s speech on Rockford’s graduation day?

I accuse them of no more than myself.

I am no better. I am worse.

I am shattered.

Both re-inspired and battered.

Willing to speak out but a coward.

Can you teach me again not to care?

So I can go back to being blissfully unaware?

Is that better? Is that worse?

Its 6am and I am out of verse.