EASTER, 2015
In a swift current
Like eddies in a bay
People come and go
All through the day
Blurred, grey faces
Go hurried paces
In a meaningless way
The truth is relative
And rarely praised
Faux smiles and faux jokes
In crude, shallow tones
Make things foul
Polluted
Wrong
When everything is dirty
Nothing becomes clean
How can beauty be celebrated
When utility is Queen?
ANNE FRANK
Why does the search for truth
Make me offensive, sensitive?
Why does an appreciation for purity
Make me a prude?
When did good become bad
And bad become good?
Why are virtues despised
In a cynical world
Where to be jaded is cool
And naïve contemptible?
Why is the killing of one lion
Mourned worldwide
And made to be bigger
Than the shedding of millions
Of innocents’ blood?
Why do people starve when
Americans eat twice as much as they need?
Why can men execute women
In Syria who say “no”
And somehow, almost no one knows?
Or cares?
Why?
Why?
Why?
Anne Frank asked the same.
This world is a game
That steals your virtue and hope.
Those beautiful souls--
They’re the first to go.
2015
About the Creator
Vivian Clarke
Third-culture-kid-now-adult with a melancholic disposition trying to make sense of life, like anyone else.
I live for my daughter, cats, and coffee.
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