Home

Pure Pain

by Aaron Michael

I.
fight the hurt in place of complacency
says my mind, but who in their right mind
lets it get that far in the first place.

this world is a war. between
between rags and riches
between activity and listlessness
between one man's right and another man's wrong.
between the bullets we fire in place of words.

as many as there are colors in the spectrum
and just as closly bred
yet such hatred and bigotry between.
how many die for ideas?
breathe. there's one.
and a second before you exhale.
and we're fighting cancer as if it's going to save
the whole world.
fighting drugs as if they cause the addiction.
is humanity so vain to believe that we can destroy a planet
when a mere hiccough in the atmosphere disrupts an entire nation?

and like ants we rebuild, build,and build, and build
to comfort ourselves in between disasters.
between footfalls of god.

II.
fight each other, in the name of god and nation and
prejudice, as if we're just learning for the first time
that war doesn't make us right,
merely more powerful.

this life is pain. the pain
...of ignorance.
...of jealousy.
...of power.
...the pain of greed.

where are the limits, if there are any at all?
and when they are enforced, how can those that
create them be the ones to enforce against transgression?

and who really needs three hundred thousand dollars a year
when the pawn-like, serial numbered soldiers scrape to make ends meet
fighting the fight that they don't want to fight but do anyways,
because a suit wanted boots on the ground.

what do you know of war
when the only blood you get on your hands
are from papercuts?
god and country are excuses that last only a short time.
an IED later it becomes survival of you and those closest
and fuck everyone else, because they all look
like the enemy, and the enemies look like innocents
and they all look like a nation that's existed a millenia
without our help.

but there are no limits to generosity.
especially when it's not your time or effort
or blood that's been volunteered.

III.
Fight your brother in place of adversity,
and blame the rest of the world for the reasons.
Now WE are the war. the war of our
idiosyncrasies - our personalities -
and everything that is between us.
this air
this space
this fear
that's cutting like blades into my sanity
and making my hands wrap around your neck in my dreams.
this fight between common goals
leads us backward, where the sand is overcoming
and the air is rapidly running out.

IV.
Fight the war.
there is no up but out and no down but dead
and no one is waiting for you live
or expecting you to die
but it's no shock when you do.

there are bullets buried
with our names in the sand
it's all a matter of time and place
and blind, agonizing luck.

and all the shrapnel pierces me
like it pierces everyone
everytime
everytime every
time i here the explosion
the shot,
the silence after the storm.

this is the war of pure pain.
no wins, no losses
nothing is ours to claim
but lives
for or against
either way, a loss.
either way, we die.



05/18/2009

Author's Note: I've been working on this for months. i think it may be finished. finally.

Posted on 05/19/2009
Copyright © 2024 Aaron Michael

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Kris Mara on 05/19/09 at 12:03 PM

it is finished...brutally honest and thoughtful, conveying words from the soul...and mine is pierced with your words and the truth in them...

Return to the Previous Page
 

pathetic.org Version 7.3.2 May 2004 Terms and Conditions of Use 0 member(s) and 2 visitor(s) online
All works Copyright © 2024 their respective authors. Page Generated In 0 Second(s)