* A Prosody, Prose And; Theme Un-Silenced
* A Prosody, Prose and;
by Louie Levy
There's hardly a day that I do not dismay, feeling physically helpless to make some alternative difference in the intercepting of inhuman wars that are raping our forsaken planet of its environmental and life's loving existence. I'm left bewildered to see passive poetic titles reflect with many a reader's comment, while other writs of war, remain void of few concerning word. I feel that silence may ill brew some sincere 'Helplessness' from within.
Although, without our Primal Plea for Peace, our Love will less be heard. Thus be buried within the tombs of our fore-fathers that have fallen prey to their own greed for empowered inhuman flawed leadership.
Yes, all thee of Earths antiquity; wise it be known that there be continuing devastated wastelands of green pastures and whole wheat grain becoming that of skeleton corpse and saddened graveyards. Modern technology of convenience and the spoils of industrial material gain have led all of Humankind crazed and of controversial dogmatic battle-field arenas of fatal duels and a world wide audience cheering the aggressors who self destruct with their own likened cannibalistic methods of life devouring life. Mythically surreal as Human dragons have we become of ourselves destined for extinction.
Whereas my elder self be dedicated as an informal writer, seeking no glory nor applause for messages that have been inspired of many an expired spirited entity. Among the many seeking messengers, their warnings as sage, prophets and the likes of whom have done little good with a deafened pondering audience. Of the vulnerably modern and of past relentless evolved stone throwing 'Cave' dwellers. Proverbially and sadly have many evilly regressed, Hopefully there be of many a Human specie whom prevail and exist of Love and good will.
'The Peaceful Bull ' -
is made to anger with a sportily red cloak waved,
the while, a cheered cowardly. Torero be power-less
if not for the murderous hidden 'Sword' readied beneath
Devilish cultural sacrifice for a beautiful and innocent Animal.
His mated sacred Cow, ever generous of her milk teat,
sharing with human infantile.
The Sin or it, be beastly unforgiving!
Earth has dreadfully become an arena of inhuman ignorance
Unseat and not applaud for such unsporting cowardly aggression.
There were rare times of Love, Peace, and of Earth's Blossoming
Cornucopia - Times are a changing, answers are within those
empathetic and decent, ne'er solutions ' Blowing In The Winds'
of Bob Dillon's indelibly wise dated sung lyric.
Golden is Silence -
when Peacefully Polished and
Ornamented for Love and Peace
Note; Although this may not be a poem -per se
The depth from which it was inspired may now
reside, where it may be heartfelt.