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John SweetPoemsuntitled composition in black and white landscape made hopeless in the season of rust |
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the last murdered slave
John Sweet
too long since
the last murdered
slave
too long since
the last assassinated
leader
what i believe in
is the idea of peace
at any cost
even here in
this obvious room
my pictures of you
in a desk drawer
and a human skull on
the top shelf
sheets of paper
piled everywhere
all of them filled with
calculations
the distance to
the sun
the number of lives
this poem won't save
even the name of
your unborn child is
important here
even the name of
the one you lost
weapons are
only limited by the
hands that hold
them
From www.retortmag.com/issue10/poetry/sweet.htm
