I see a child
whose life
is dying of thirst.
I see a child
chasing droplets of water
in a storm of dust
and black flies.
I see brown bones
dangling haphazardly.
I see a marionette
at the end of
invisible wires
an impossible tangle.
Someone said,
“…magic persists without us…”*
Is there magic in this world?
Magic cyclones?
An Emerald City?
I see a wicked land.
I see desolate people
watering poppies in spring.
*Charles Bukowski, In Other Words
Magic
03 Thursday Jan 2013
Posted in poems
Poetry on the run 
me, too, sometimes. beautifully honest.
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thanks ann. i feel like this one is a bit overcooked, just too bleak…i think the good outweighs the bad but some of the avoidable horrors in this world are too much to stomach.
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à mon avis, the good only outweighs the bad when it does. sometimes it doesn’t. those are dark hours, indeed, but they are hours – hours that pass, that we must endure. they are the hours that taught us how to create in order to survive. there is a terrible sadness in our impotence, and i think you’ve captured it beautifully here.
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