I’m back! But only for a little while. Lots of readings to do for the semester ahead, oh boy. BUT I had a creative streak, and offer a new poem, written about 10 minutes ago, as a gift… and a bit of a plea. It’s in response to a movie I just watched called The Whistleblower with Rachel Weisz. Very sad story, don’t watch if you can’t stomach human torturing (even though not much of it is shown on screen). I do recommend it though, very well done and really makes you wonder about the world… Anyways, onto my verse, enjoy:

(Kathryn)

Stand outside the building
and watch painfully still.
Watch the flames billow
touching and tasting the wood around
until a suitable plank
is found.
The air grows hot
from the rising fire
waves of warmth in pulses
do not turn away
a sudden swell of heat
pushes outwards
as the wooden structure slowly
collapses
built on foundation too frail
from the debris of the war.
A crowd has gathered
cheering the burning on
hollering in praise
and having a merry time
paid to watch
not paid to act.

A few stand in the background
silently gazing on
as the wind howls through the cracks
of the house
gathering force
it’s enough noise for them.
The gale becomes stronger
and smoke from the flames
is pushed out to the crowd
the hollering ones gasp
choked
as thick and toxic fumes
penetrate their lungs.

And all the while
the bystanders are silent
but internally
egging the wind on
kill the betrayers
the would-be protectors
and let us rebuild it strong.
The flames collapse and the crowd moves on
whoever is left, crawling away
in shame
the embers settle down
planks precariously leaning
supporting each other
the only way they know how.

And that’s where we come in
to lend a supporting hand
for the need is greater now
than ever before
that poorly assembled house
can never be a home.
But in the end, it’s only one
of many waiting around
the fire has moved on,
waiting to surface again
from the underground.