“is America The Blame? ”
Poem By Angel JacksonAbner
All can’t be lost if doubt remains,
Since there is still some possibility
In the malleable tissue of thought.
Do we really live only in this world of death,
Hacked apart into atoms and egos
Strained through so many sieves?
Are we really diminished
To what we can understand?
Beyond this, beyond some secret door
There has to be a spring, a latch
Some unseen idea,
Some means of overreaching
Call it a sacred animus, call it…
Falcon of day!
Panther of night!
Bring in something predatory…albeit ridiculous
Into the pantheon of our little lies,
Our champion in the wars waged,
Behind the lines we never see
In unseen sleeves…
…can’t we hold some cards?
Some wondrous tricks,
Against the boring game of tedious death.
These are opaque imaginings…
Rosaries that our braille hands grope
To ward off the fearful drying up
Of our time’s little knot.