Poem Hunter
(February/'47 / Connecticut, USA)


Poem By Lawrence S. Pertillar

In a society where everyone has been left bent...
Or crooked by events,
That have shakened them from thoughts...
They were sold and bought,
As authentic ones taught they ought to follow.
Borrow or steal...
To initiate their acceptance in reality?
What is perceived as 'thee' reality?

Who can honestly say they have escaped today,
Being totally and completely straight?
As defined by those redefining definitions.

Maybe there are a few exceptions,
Among those left narrowminded...
And blinded in darkness by cave dwelling.

But hardly anyone can say,
They have not gone astray!
Not the way things are exposed.
Not the way they are these days.

The discovery of one in innocence and naïveté...
Could capture museum attention,
As relics to see for a fee to pay!

And remember when,
The appearance of a halo above one's head...
Was so blasé?
Those of us that have not pawned them in!
Our unstained and untainted intentions.
'We' of virgin virtues and proclivities,
That is.
Are haunted by such taunting memories!

'Are you writing this down? '

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