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if apathy were a germ
by Charlie Morgangerms grow. reproduce. live. expire.
and in-between, loose rampant havoc.
no more will they balance their dreams on my desk
and fill them with pens, pencils, scratch pads.
instead i'll plant a hummingbird seed in pines
and watch the wind whip the trees and grasses.
all this while i trade looks with a Grizzly,
seeing if all my head fits into his claw-paw.
no overgrowth of nuance, a wind-swept trail leads
out in front of me. a visitor to a lost island.
this tree-lined terrace of tears and torture
allows the largest to die as quick as the small
as each tries to outdistance his own maker,
only to lie exhausted in the home-stretch.
the unused and unheard dead lie motionless,
so far from the homeland, so near to life.
turning in unison, slowly. eventually blinding
speed becomes just right for seeing the past
and ending the germ's birth and growth of apathy. 05/08/2008 Posted on 05/08/2008
Copyright © 2026 Charlie Morgan
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Alison McKenzie on 05/09/08 at 04:32 PM "...as each tries to outdistance his own maker,
only to lie exhausted in the home-stretch." Besides, failing at it miserably. Hehe. Your observations of late are just other-wordly and gorgeous.
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| Posted by Glenn Currier on 07/24/09 at 05:19 AM When apathy wins... I love the movement in this and the emotion. Especially relate to trying to outdiatance the maker... a regular preoccupation of mine. You always challenge my little gray cells, Charlie. |
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