Spiraling Indifference Poem by Frank James Ryan Jr...fjr

Indifferent...and at times
we speak with forked tongue,
tightly wrapped in leather,
sometimes forced to breathe
with sharp bloodied knives
through our weak, subluxed spines,
while we War until the sky,
and the ground paints a scape
of a dripping cherry red
late August sunset,
the kind Gloucestermen
live and love to watch
set o'er the Flemish Caps
of Labrador.

Yet the earth, she spins 'round,
with indifference....seemingly,
still i'm not quite convinced
as we blanket her soil,
God-Woven, yet -
with the greatest imbrue:
the suffocating stench of War,
a War some have christened Holy!

Still, Earth she makes makes her rounds,
maintaining her balance
despite social vertigo,
hate, deceit, read The Book,
signs and portent
eloquently quilled by John.

{And what a Revelation it has been fortold to be}

Now struggling to balance
her bruised, fissured spine,
her lifeline and axis
ostensibly immune
to indifference,
our indifference -
Will her Peace ever reign?
or is she just waiting on
the omens of Nostradamus?
I certainly hope not.....
for that would be
sheer blasphemy!






Frank James Ryan, Jr / FjR
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