As I Write Poem by Robert Melliard

As I write a girl is being raped somewhere
and a bomb is falling or a shell whizzing
or a grenade exploding or a rifle being fired.

Yes, the global village is here to stay:
we can't escape from ghastly earth-facts.

As an antidote to so much pain,
I try to think of people making love
right now, all the world over,
in varying positions, grasping pleasure,
or mothers kissing new-born babes,
or carefree children playing games.

And animals have their ups and downs,
some eating, others being eaten,
dogs running, or kept on short chains,
horses rolling on their backs in fields,
or being whipped by heartless men.

This earth, at any time, is just a stream
of good and evil, light and shade.
I'd like to be a Buddhist and accept
this mixture philosophically,
but as a would-be poet it's too hard
to see life logically.