misha9999999

it seems to be looked upon to cut and paste
something into your journal... I guess it doesn't
have as much feeling as something you would
write yourself, but I'm gonna go against that
preconceived notion and put a poem, written
by one of my favorite poets... no need to mention
who he is. because it doesn't matter. the fact
that we live our lives oblivious to the suffering
of others bothers me. a lot. and yeas i'm a
hypocrite for saying that, because I too go on
about my everyday business and enjoy all the
conveniences of a western decadent society...
yet I want you to read this... because it doesn't
matter how slow you go as long as you don't stop
and even a little thing like this could mean something bigger.
Making people think, even if only for a second for a
moment, can make a difference... It's all a geometrical
progression, a chain reaction. we're all connected.
in the end we are all one.

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As you pour yourself a scotch,
crush a roach, or check your watch,
as your hand adjusts your tie,
people die.
In the towns with funny names,
hit by bullets, caught in flames,
by and large not knowing why,
people die.
In small places you don't know
of, yet big for having no
chance to scream or say good-bye,
people die.
People die as you elect
new apostles of neglect,
self-restraint, etc. -- whereby
people die.
Too far off to practice love
for thy neighbor/brother Slav,
where your cherubs dread to fly,
people die.
While the statues disagree,
Cain's version, history
for its fuel tends to buy
those who die.
As you watch the athletes score,
check your latest statement, or
sing your child a lullaby,
people die.
Time, whose sharp blood-thirsty quill
parts the killed from those who kill,
will pronounce the latter tribe
as your tribe.