“The Mourne Wall”
Pivot around a structure that stretches on
There seems no end in it
Hard to tell what is being kept out and kept in
Meant to guard against harm
But harm boils up when idly walking by
Sinister sadness picks away
Left with an expanse of nothingness
Room enough for all of the pain
All of it
Then a bit more
Walking along the wall
Again uncertain of which side is the right side to be on
Frost contended that good fences make good neighbors
Impassible, endless walls make great hermits
Society provides a template
The template requires attention to detail and strict adherence
The infrastructure upon which society stands is perpetuated by those building things using the template
The mob gets upset with the infrastructure and decides to change the template
The infrastructure fails to support the society that exists because the template that instructs the society how to perpetuate building has changed
People are mad, because the mob decided to change the template without thinking about the consequences of how society would be supported if the template was changed
The mob eats itself because there is no one to protect it from itself because society does not exist any longer
People range around in constant states of rage and mania
Society provides an imperfect template
Society provides a stage upon which the actions happen
For better or worse, we are society
Consumed in a fire of despair.
Wanton warning full of fear.
Wailing withal wondrous wept.
Announcing end in a breath.
No glass ceiling guarding death.
Harping harpy so inclined.
Wettest blanket of mankind.
Hope it’s me she doesn’t find.
Is it preferable to possess one silver arm?
Or, more preferable to possess a silver tongue?
Sitting on a lonely throne,
Trusting not a single one.
Consequences can’t be undone.
First in line, of a line.
A pound of flesh,
Paid to vice.
Settling peace upon the mound,
Dead stacked upon the ground.
A battle lost, an armless army arming itself.
The skill of gods to hit refill.
As the light of dawn illuminates the souls and boddy bods.
Planting crops to grow.
Using the seeds of dead soldiers.
It’s the longhand reach
That exceeds the grasp
Such things can only be calculated deliberately
Trying as one might
The might of effort
But, they sure do appreciate a good try.
Whatever the outcome might be.