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Poem #28 ~ Hawks and Doves

28. (Began 1-15-20, Lewiston High School) Hawks and Doves


A spectacular book is like a kidnapper, captivating figuratively and literally

With no remorse, it captures an individual’s soul, so very unkempt and frenetic

The reader is held hostage with manipulation, literary Stockholm Syndrome

This cannot be accomplished by every book, but once in a blue moon one may impact so

The translation of mind to matter takes control of the brain like a fungus might an ant’s

The reader’s breath is halted, because the book is like an unrequited romance

One can devote all their time to a book, and their mind and body will change and grow

The book will never care, never give thought to this worship; in fact, the opposite is true

The book will shrink and weaken, wilted dog-eared and brown with use, love, passion

With time, it will become but a husk of itself, and the ink may have faded unintelligible

Perhaps one day, all the books in the world will crumble and fray as dust this way

And all the knowledge they hold will be swept into the wind in that single moment

And the gust to send them upward will be machines crafted with their own knowledge

Hot, white heat will tear the books to shreds; they’ll fly through walls cracked like eggs

The embryo within will be smashed, asphyxiated, throat slit, hit after hit, bit to bit to bit

Stories of terror most high and depths so low and fire so hot may come to life right from

It becomes impossible to determine if life is imitating art, or art is imitating life

When kidnappers with wealth write kidnappers themselves, the world cries itself to sleep

Using thought exciting and sharp, the sum of all knowledge will be banished, dismissed

And with that lost thought will be the knowledge of writing, and the art of publication

The minds of the people had forgotten those skills, preoccupied with war, or themselves

And the split words and letters will circle humanity forever and ever and forever further

The global hostage crisis will finally reach its end; on an apocalyptic toll it will depend

And in time the world will grow dark and ugly and boring and lifeless and empty

The people will remember something once was, but will weep for they know not what

And on and on history’s wit seems to taunt the people from skies so darkened and cold

Those, the reaper’s hawks and doves, will never soar down from their swirling pest’s jest

No matter how much the people cry, pray, and hope, they’ll keep high up in spite’s flight

And the people will never know how it was so their own love and devotion could do this

But an idea was born, in time, that maybe this was precious good, something necessary

And it dawned on the people that the books had achieved their one true final purpose

The people weren’t so stupid, they’d been misguided by well-dressed crooks and killers

The flight of the books had enlightened them, gifted to them a deeper understanding

And they realized they’d been shown the extent of their selves, given a chance to grow

As in stories in the pages of the books, the people would grow from their ashes

Like a phoenix, so beautiful and brash and strong, the people would be reborn

But this tempest fowl would be blue with caution, not gilded red with fiery folly

And at first when they knew all this, nothing changed but everything did

The darkness strengthened their tear-stained eyes to see what once was invisible

The silence helped them hear the hidden details of life’s beautiful bustling activity

The space in their heads let them learn things that were new and exciting and brave

The people that night rejoiced the world over in great jubilation and adrenal glee

And at the climax the crowds stopped and gazed into the sky with awesome wonder

There was movement like there hadn’t been in years in the darkness cast above

The books were fluttering down in a glorious halo of salvation’s euphoria

The pieces fell like snowflakes upon the masses, and the people grabbed them with joy

Although the words and ideas were together no more, the shreds were shared around

And each person loved and learned from each small fracture’s contribution

Each person had their own interpretation and realization

Each person had their own imagination and connotation

Each person had their own significance and meaning and emotion

In painful, hopeful time, the world would shine happy and bright and new once more

And the bonds between person and person were better than they’d been long before

From their lofty position, gazing down at the dark, the books had dissolved borders

People had been forced to work and think and love together hand in hand for survival

The wisdom and knowledge and shit of the past was read

New wisdom and knowledge and shit was created from it

Many people were ecstatic, many were depressed, and many somewhere between

All were living life as never before they’d been.


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