The story of this poem: This week, a man who caused a lot of pain to a lot of people was publicly killed. Things don’t feel great over here in the States.
WHAT HAPPENED TO YOU, CHARLIE? I’m curious if your death was an illusion, Something meant to pull our eyes away from some more ugly truth? I notice how the news is consumed by you: I wonder if you shook hands with someone you admire, If you agreed to be a lamb? Perhaps, a dying, blurry man said you’d be a messiah. I’ve seen what a need for acceptance can do. It’s not up to me to decide if you’ll be damned to fire. It remains a shame that, even in these modern days, There’s no patching up a body with spark stolen, No journey of personal growth for bare bones. Were you murdered, Or was this something chosen? While we shout about you, Decisions are whispered on international phones. Young men: cannon fodder, just as they’ve always been. (It’s probably just a coincidence that the news dropped on September 11th.) We live in a future where a person has to explode in order for their words to pay the rent. Grown green eyes like mine can take you in, But I’m sad for your young children, Kids who will grow up thinking that they have to live and die by the sword, That conviction leads to death.
Thank you so much for reading my work.
See you next week.
