a poem by lyw
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today, I live a life that has never
fought in a war, nor had a loved one
fight in any war, and I watch
from the distance of documentary
what looks like madness
from sweet boys and girls,
led by mothers and fathers,
everything is black and white
photography, or interviews
in a multitude of digital colour
our civility paid for by those who won and lost
why do we wonder, in our modern day,
that we cannot keep the dead from rising
when our farms and foundations
are built on battlefields too deep
in somebody’s grief and pain
to be rightfully cleared
my generation has inherited
a peculiar fascination for
zombies and vampires and werewolves
between the evening news and latest
entertainment, some kind of
desecrated body, bloodlust or
inherent savagery
frequent the streets
of the screen
maybe this is
a symptom of past generations
reacting to what the wars did to them
or what war allowed them to be
creating these games and action figures
somewhere between Freud and Jung
for their children to play
a desecrated body
a bloodlust
an inherent savagery
always buried away in a tomb
always imagining one day
a brave young hero
unstained by the past
who can deliver
the final kill
no, none of us are immune
no matter how ignorant we are made
this generation with a strange
fascination for sequels
© lyw
Please experience this poem on Youtube:
Image credits:
- girl sitting on park bench Photo by Catalin Sandru on Unsplash
- tomb with roots Photo by Łukasz Maźnica on Unsplash
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An American Hero 