Choices rub up against you that way,
not like purring cats seeking to have their bellies rubbed,
rather like scratchy wool pressing against the skin,
an uncomfortable emery board rubbing it raw.
Like noisome gnats swarming abound the head
they swirl until thoughtlessly whooshed away,
hand flapping carelessly by the face,
when choices are nothing more than other’s ideas
requiring no thought.
Choice beaten out of them, they,
leadened marionettes, toss grenades
that sometimes explode in their hands,
and bayonet other nameless strangers.
Expendable, interchangeable units, they,
toy soldiers, their names
gloriously arrayed on victory plaques.
Feather men elect engagement without murder.
Become white-feather fodder comforting without weapons,
adrift on a mad ocean of carnage.
They simply float unremembered, kept
aloft by playful gods whistling airy carnage tunes,
their bodies bloodied unlike the others.
At heart all feathermen,
but one bears the burden of conscience.
Sy Roth comes riding in and then canters out. He resides in Mount Sinai, far from Moses and the tablets. This has led him to find words for solace. He spends his time writing and playing his guitar. He has published in many online publications. One of his poems, Forsaken Man, was selected for Best of 2012 poems in Storm Cycle. Twice selected Poet of the Month in Poetry Super Highway. He was named Poet of the Month for the month of February in BlogNostics. Included in Poised in Flight anthology. A Murder of Crows named Poem of the Week in Toucan.
Copyright © 2014 by Sy Roth