Survival?

By Beverly Greene

NOTE: This poem is protected by international copyright laws and may NOT be reproduced in any form without Beverly Greene's expressed and written consent.

The white dogwoods are turning brown
and the sky an ominous, dingy gray.
The limbs blow violently
as a bird fights to get home
against the rushing, warm wind.
Thunder heard in the distance,
waits to erupt into lighting bolts
of fury and disgust.
The clouds' tears pound
heavily upon the ground
beating down the grass.
The foundation of my world
floats rapidly away
as waves of water come crashing over.
The smell of fear permeates the air
as the warlike sights and sounds intensify --
to the point of no return
where no one is left alive;
machine guns fire rituals and obligations
until only shells of people remain
while thunder booms in my ears.

Souls die here daily;
it's the graveyard of hearts
and the final resting place for dreams.
Lightening is now the only source of light
and tomb stones surround
me on every side.
Suddenly, with a flash of light
I recognize a few names.
The tears disappear
on my already wet face
when I see the Grim Reaper
with a smile and a hand
stretching, reaching for me,
calling for me to take my place,
to do my duty (may Ibsen forgive!)
and to be an upstanding citizen
who would commit no social sin.
The fear and smell of personal death
scare the life back into me
and I start to run.
Run, far away to a better place
where happiness abounds with the joy of life.
Unfortunately the only such existence
is on very lonely ground.
Can loneliness and happiness coexist
outside the realm of society
when it never did within?

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� 2001 Beverly Greene owns all rights to this original poem.

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