Some poems and the beginnings of a song

Here are some poems I wrote, to get my Blog Ball rolling. I wrote these on November 4^th, before the election results were in, hence the "Why Vote?" poem. And unless you've read Kurt Vonnegut's "Cat's Cradle", you won't understand the "Nationwide Cheer" poem. Just know it's satire, as is the "Sandbox" poem. I like satire. It's like sarcasm with a purpose :) .

Anyway, here they are.

Preparations

As its hands creep closer to midnight,

Are we ready for the clock to chime?

Are we ready for the soldiers' courage;

Ready for the innocents' murders?

Are we ready for the prideful patriotism;

Ready for the hidden prejudice?

Are we ready to fight for our country;

Ready to kill for it?

Ready to die?

Are we ready to end the wars;

Ready for the destruction left behind?

Are we ready for all of this?

Are we ready for any of it?

Why Vote?

I vote because I have a voice.

I vote because my voice matters.

I vote because my voice makes a difference.

I vote because my voice longs to be heard.

I vote because my voice will not be silenced.

Most of all, I vote because I can.

Robots

Robots.

Everywhere, robots roam.

They carry out their programming.

They are unaware of their existence, unaware that they are robots.

They long to be something more. Convince themselves they are intelligent.

They are stupid. They know only what they are told to know.

They believe they can think, but their thoughts are predefined.

They call themselves “humans”.

I call them robots.

Dreamland

What are dreams, if not reality?

As I sleep, somewhere my dreams are real.

Somewhere, I am president; somewhere I am a prisoner.

Somewhere, the world is ending; somewhere it has only begun.

Somewhere, I have the girl of my dreams; somewhere I have lost her.

Somewhere, I know everything; somewhere, I know nothing.

Somewhere, I am happy; somewhere my depression is overwhelming.

Somewhere, everything happens;

But right here, I am content to dream.

Linger

Stay with me.

Don't leave, I beg.

But you will leave anyway.

You always do.

I love you so, but you are fleeting; I have no chance to tell you.

Stay with me.

Please, Peace; linger on.

The Journey

We walk the stairs, climbing forever upward.

We pass clouds, and it gets colder.

Yet the warm rays of the Sun comfort us;

We will soon be Home. Heaven is near.

Now we are falling. Dropping quickly, faster and faster.

The stairs have dissolved under us, they offer no more support.

We hit the ground hard, but do not die.

Instead, we keep falling, through the ground, digging ditches with our bodies.

It gets hot; we sweat and gasp for breath.

Hell has received its bounty, and we are no longer deceived.

Heaven is not for Man. Not anymore.

Sandbox

We love our country; we are forever loyal.

All hail those lines in the sand!

They separate us from the savages.

They keep us safe from cannibalistic primitives.

We alone are evolved; we alone are advanced.

The others have their own sand lines;

But their lines are pointless. They mean nothing.

They are outside our borders, outside our sandbox.

They must pay; they must not intrude.

Our sand lines protect us from them.

All hail the lines in the sand!

Nationwide Cheer

Granfalloon!

They yell the word, loving how it sounds.

Granfalloon!

The slogan resonates, filling all with pride.

Granfalloon!

I tell them what it means.

Granfalloon!

They do not see--

Granfalloon!

They are a granfalloon. They are deceiving themselves.

Granfalloon!

Stop! Do not shout the word! Do you not see--

Granfalloon!

It is not a title to be proud of! Please, stop yelling it!

Granfalloon!

Enough! This is not right!

Granfalloon!

The Purpose of Poems

Poems.

Why are they here?
What purpose do they serve?

They neither hurt nor heal.

They do not protect, they do not caress.

They cannot feel, observe, nor ever respond.

Why are they here?

What do they do?

I wonder the same thing.

Yet here I am, writing a poem.

Horseman's Return

The Headless Horseman rides again.

He rides through the forest he used to know.

It is different; the years have changed it.

It seems much colder, much darker.

He meets a traveler, and practices his skill.

No response. No fear. Not even a startled jump.

The traveler moves on, unfazed.

Distressed, the Horseman leaves the woods.

He rides into the city; it is bigger than he remembers.

He meets a taxi, but its passengers see nothing.

They are busy in their own affairs.

He comes to a bridge, tired. Even the homeless man feels no fear.

He curls up under a newspaper, cold and wet; it has begun to rain.

No head.

No brain.

No heart.

Like everyone else.

Yes, I know. Some are depressing. But those cynical ideas always seem to produce the best poetry, don't they? Poe's "The Raven" was all about insanity. Go figure.

Anyway, the title promised poems and an unfinished song. So here's the song, or at least what I have of it (one verse and a chorus). I call it "Let You Go". It's kind of a rock song in the style of Nickleback and the like.

They say I'm 6 feet tall, I can stand to fall
But now I'm 6 feet underground
Thought it was you who ended it with your pretending
But that's not what I'm hearing now
'Cause the last time that I saw you I knew
That you would run to all your friends
The last time that I heard your voice
It was the day when, day when

[Chorus]
You came to me with all your problems
Wanted me to fix your soul
I gave you advice, told you what I thought was right
But you turned and let me go...
Why did you let me go?...
My turn to let you go

Well, that's all I have of it so far. I play a little piano, and I have a MIDI keyboard, so if anyone who can sing likes the song (when it's done, of course), please E-Mail me. Although I can write and play, I have a bit of an issue with singing (tone-deaf), so if I could get a singer on board I could actually get a song produced and complete.

-IMP ;) :)