MendedFences27

A Love Story

A Love Story

 

Where does one begin 

to fill-in the story

of a life left in

the path of glory

where the hero always dies

and the maiden always cries?

Where no one ever wins.?

 

The story of the loss of innocence

by innocent means:

Of the loss of camelot

in tight dungarees.

Of death in a pastoral setting

a host of Sun-dried daffodils.

Of hope lost in the kitchen

a decathlon of bitching.

Of bombshells exploding 

with self-loathing and boding

half a hillside

of floral overkills.

 

What happens to those who remain?

Are they ever the same?

Or do they become unrecognizable?

 

The heroes are now the villains.

The maidens are having migraines.

Innocence has a new face.

Violence is commonplace.

Dungarees are a disgrace.

Bombshells explode 

in neighborhoods.

The planet keeps getting hotter.

Religions murder and slaughter

in the name of gods.

Politicians are frauds.

Phones are not for calling

no need for ear-pods.

Send me a text if you don’t believe it.

 

Where do we go from here?

The nearest habitable planet

is 70 lightyears away, maybe

and yet they say

we can get there if we plan it.

But this nuthouse world 

keeps spinning

led by nuts obsessed with winning.

Everything about them is false

a regular rock & roll waltz

yet millions of minions follow

ever so hollow

brains like marshmallows.

 

We have entered the twilight zone:

Of Large Hadron (whoever he is?)

Colliders wrapped around mountains

of paper, more than likely.

Of escaping mutants that kill millions

now being accepted

as the norm for us billions.

Of asteroids being moved

like a carom shot

in billiards or snooker.

And the end result is what?

Fast Eddy wins

or Minnesota Fats goes viral.

Life is but a spiral

a double helix of genes

like jeans, when you wring them out.

 

And so, I dream of colder times

when we kept our caps on

and with digital integrity

covered our fingers

and toes.

Where Santa worked 

but one night a year

and didn’t linger

at every street corner, mall

or barroom.

My name is K. B. Morrison.

I work at the munitions factory.

What does the K. B. stand for?

 

KA-BOOM!