Hope Against Hope

I see April out with a storm

of regret’s dark mayhem swirling

through my heart.  A long night

Beltane’s leaping over fires

easing into this wet May morning.

Listen, I like to keep my poems

free from the murderous malice

my country displays, firing

bazookas indiscriminately

to secure these foreign lands

rich in resources.  As if my words

could be cleansed somehow

of the power that moves my fingers

on this up-to-date laptop

combining 66 minerals

mined from third-world countries

that can’t stop us

from tearing down their mountains

and stripping them of riches

that we need

to surf the web

and spout this

holier than thou

diatribe — okay, I’m owning this,

my moral compass spinning

wildly, and my mentors

all white as ghosts

and we’re all connected

in this infamy of oppression.

Mayday, mayday, mayday,

all life is threatened

by our hidden greed.

Driven blindly by this covert

need when everything

is here, gifts of love

we cannot heed.

Destruction our wake

plowing crazily

through the waters of life

without a clue.

Awake, awake, is it

too late?


Inspired by: Compass, Mayhem, Bazooka and Mentor. And this article on minerals used in computers and where the top ten are mined.

Published by

Victoria Stuart

I'm a poet, philosopher and inner seeker. A giver, lover and a healer who studies the heart.

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