Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

Time.
The city awakens,
the sound of it breaking the
silence of December's dismal night,
wheels in motion, destiny
revolving a circular kind of death.

Oh, wilderness,
plastic gods in plastic battles,
throwaway society,
feed the hungry with the dead
Monsanto killed the seed,
farmers reap no benefits,
only words
blowing in the fallow wind...

Oh, Jerusalem,
this poem is not for you,
divided, you are conquered
from within

and if there is a God,
and if in his name
there grows the tree of life,
"Thy will be done", my prayer without ceasing,
I don't believe in God, do you?


~A

I agree with most of the positions of this poem---especially the Monsanto stanza.

Your poem has depth and seeks almost unanswerable questions.