DREAMS OF WAR AND HATE


 provokes,

Dreams of wars and dreams of hate,

Flow through me at an alarming rate.

Is this the calm before the storm,

That will ultimately seal our fate?

We’ll see! We’ll see!

The eye of the hurricane is passing through,

Hurry, get inside! The winds are returning for me and you!

Those who glorify war and play its game,

Have forgotten that war’s a beast and difficult to tame.

War and hate leave destruction in their wake,

It doesn’t seem to matter how many lives they take.

I don’t believe this is the calm that precedes the storm,

For this storm is smaller is riddled with lies.

But I see a great storm with power greater than the norm.

One that provokes enemies but I anticipate hate built from

Collusion and calculations and attacks from within.

The costs of war are staggering,

But in the past when we were knocked down,

We faced our terrors and got up round after round.

There are no guarantees and this time may be different.

Are we in the calm before the storm?

We’ll see!  We’ll see!

October 10, 2017

 

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OTHERS, LIARS, and MANY MORE


OTHERS, LIARS, AND MANY  MORE

 

Hezer did not listen to their lies.  Everything they said seemed to be poisoned arrows aimed directly at him. Why did they continue to speak their malicious words? Why were they lying? What had he done to deserve this?

                More and more people were beginning to hate him.  He could feel the hatred, see their eyes grow cold, and know they were talking about him behind his back. “Don’t talk to him. He’s not someone we want to associate with.” “Did you hear what he wants to do now?” “People are disappearing.  He’s got to be stopped before it gets worse.”

 The lies were growing, stretching from small sores into festering, gaping wounds that he could not stop.  The more the lies were told, the more the lies were believed. The lies became the truth, comprehended and interpreted to be facts.   Facts were created out of imagined truths and soon there was no distinction between fact and fiction.

His skin was brown and soft, different from theirs.  He was one of the newly created liars, his DNA altered by scientists eager to produce a race of people who could survive under the extreme conditions of a nuclear war.

 At first scientists were proud to claim they had made improvements to mankind. But it was only a matter of time before things began to change.

 The media began with grandiose announcements informing the general public that scientists were gods capable of building a new future.   With the cooperation of everyone the new people could be blended into everyday life with no harmful results. The new people were reputed to be extraordinary workers, requiring less sleep and less rest. In addition, they were very friendly. That brought up the possibility of less hate between nations and less wars.  On paper and in controlled situations everything seemed perfect.  Everybody was thrilled to see changes being made.

As the years passed and war loomed over mankind without actually happening, the differences between the liars and normal humans became festering sores.  All the things humans wanted to do, the new people insisted they could do better.  The liars were reputed to jump higher, run faster, and have better sex.

A lie gets better in the telling, while the truth is always the same.  Stories became ludicrous as the stories stretched and grew.  The liars changed the truth in small increments, made the lies deceive humans who were ready to believe.  Scientists rushed to tell the truth and make claims based on fact, but it was too late.  The lies were no longer lies.  They had been told too often with no opposition and now all the people believed them.

Because the liars had few differences, the others, (the common humans) were concerned the liars would begin taking over. The others struck first, quietly replacing the liars in their jobs. Humans retook  power positions. This time the others were careful to keep the appearance of being fair with no discrimination.  Laws were enacted to increase the number of lies. Lawyers, politicians, and sales personnel were expected to lie consistently.  Their habits were already well established.

The truth is plain, although it has been known to be naked, harsh, or ugly.  Lies come in many colors, and can be very pretty or very ugly.  The liars came in many colors, which made them very special and easily seen.  They were often targets and many had been attacked and killed by frustrated others. Although liars liked being noticed and admired, they were opposed to being killed. The others, or humans as they liked to be called, deviated from the plain truth, and many others would testify in court that liars did not have as many witnesses as others did.  Therefore the liars must be lying. Others ignored the fact that “it only takes one to tell the truth. It takes many to keep a lie.”

Wars did not stop because the liars were created. Wars were often started because of miscommunication between political groups. Liars became the scapegoats in many countries and were forced to defend the truth, especially when others covered up the truth or divided it into small portions.  Liars continued to ask for the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.

The world became divided into four distinct levels.  But that was after the world lost much of its wisdom and hope. It was a time of lies and secrets, a time to restore life and love, and a time when all things beautiful became a part of truth. But that’s another story that deserves to be embellished and expanded, stretched and interpreted, loved and hated, and turned into choices which began at the very beginning of time.

 

Others became the highest group. Liars were the middle group. Many were in the next level.

The lowest group were the poets, singers, philosophers, and others who told the truth.  

June 4, 2017

 

 

A Special Man


A Special Man

 

None of his wives

Could live with him

But they couldn’t live without.

After work he would

Sit in his chair

Like a king on his throne

And his current wife would scurry about

Taking care of his needs.

Each claimed he was a special man,

But they weren’t slaves.

At his funeral his four ex-wives

(And his widow)

Showed up broken-hearted.

All loved and spoke highly of him.

But, if their words were true,

Which one poisoned him?

Which one loved him so much

She couldn’t share?

Who felt pain enough to break free?

One of them broke the spell

Because none of them

Could live with him

But they couldn’t live without.

by Dan Roberson

Timeline


Timeline

My life can be measured, 

In increments on a line.

Like the man in black I walk that line.

Sometimes it’s three steps forward.

Other times it’s five steps back.

I can’t even stop if I get off track.

Ominous clouds continually threaten.

But my inner peace keeps me focused.

Daily I stay in the present marching on,

I say, “This is where the battles are won.”

Usually I count the moments until

Everything that was confusing becomes clear.

Behind me are my footprints,

Showing me where I blindly

stepped on things I held dear,

But I tromp on in erratic fashion,

Marching to verse that I created

but never got a chance to rehearse.

As I continue my journey,

The world becomes my playground.

I cry, “I want a special friend

Who’ll stay with me until the very end.”

But like children in a park,

Finding the swings are much the same,

They get tired and angry

 and move on to other games.

I want to shout, “I don’t want to keep score.

One playground or another

Will have the one I’m searching for.”

I won’t worry about getting hurt or feeling pain

Because there’s the whole world to gain.

Opportunities abound on this timeline.

I can hate and hurt or love and be kind.

I can encourage others and help them along.

I can do what is right and avoid the wrong.

“What’s this?” you say.

“How can I have fun that way?”

I’ve been there so I nod and look wise.

Misguided fun is only trouble in disguise.

When I look back at my tracks

Do they point the way for others to follow?

Or did I find a mud hole in which to wallow?

If I stayed, all would have been lost.

But I struggled free to avoid the biggest cost.

When my timeline comes to an end,

I want people to say, “Here was a good man,

And always he was a friend”.

 

 

 

 

 

Condemned For Loving Too Much


Condemned for Loving Too Much
Poetry Palace Award

Loving (TV series)
Image via Wikipedia

“Condemned for Loving too Much”

All was quiet in this forgotten town,

Because of the record snow tumbling down,

Yet in the plaza crowds were shopping still,

Looking for entertainment to get their fill,

There were walkers, and talkers, shops all ablaze,

Restaurants still open but countless delays,

Marge was waiting patiently and talking to a friend,

This day had been perfect, she didn’t want it to end,

Somehow, she noticed him, standing off from the crowd,

His gray eyes fixed on her, haughty and proud,

His brown coat, his lean frame, the thin twisted nose,

Why she alone could see him, she could only suppose,

His eyes asked questions, the answers she didn’t dare,

What kind of man was he? One that didn’t care?

Was he an angry ghost or a demon of some kind?

Why were his thoughts penetrating her mind?

Somehow in his hands he held her new fate,

She thought, “Is it possible to love someone you hate?”

As this thought surfaced, Marge pushed it away,

She had never seen him before, not until today,

“He is not attractive,” she thought, “not in the least,”

But he continued to stare at her like she was a feast,

Her face flushed, and deep within the heat began,

Rising in waves until perspiration ran,

She was uncomfortable, she needed time to think,

But he watched her diligently, not once did he blink,

“Is it possible to love your enemy?” she thought,

“What is it about me that’s so eagerly sought?”

She was thirty-three years old for goodness sake,

And ten pounds too heavy, give or take,

Yet she was flattered by his attention even more,

Unlike her friends, all her faults he chose to ignore,

He willed her to move forward, but he didn’t insist,

Although she closed her eyes, she was helpless to resist,

Silently Marge turned, her demon she faced,

When he smiled, her legs trembled, her heart raced,

She took one step forward, two, then three,

She unbuttoned her blouse, letting him see,

She hated him and yet she was offering her kind,

Melting into love, her body yielding to his mind,

Seeking his hatred, demands, contempt to slay,

Doing what she could, loving his hate away,

An act of love determined Marge’s fate,

Is it possible to love, someone you hate?

All is quiet again in this forgotten town,

But there is one less demon standing around,

No one wants to question or be out of touch,

Should Marge be condemned for loving too much?

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