Tuesday, April 16, 2013

Angry Ones

Epistle – This poem reads like a letter. It can be intimate or formal, and a declaration of love or thoughtful exploration. There is no strict meter or rhyme scheme.

Angry Ones

Hey you, dressed all in black!
What are your plans for that backpack?
Mother Nature spread her sunshine,
for us—a blessing—simply divine.
Unaware that dirty plans had begun,
on Marathon day, under the Boston sun.

Another dead man walking toward another’s fate,
never learned to live, only fostered hate.
Please tell me how it feels to carry such despair,
while others prosper from the beauty of prayer.
Will this violent act feed your empty soul?
The rest of your life, falling into a black hole.

This destructive day will last for all time.
Remembrance is for the innocent, not the crime.
The world isn’t blind to the Angry Ones’ disdain. 
We mourn the losses--overcome your infected strain. 

Senseless and inhumane,



  1. So true Bea - senseless and inhumane. I wonder about anger and hate and how it can get so consuming to drive such devastating acts.

    Why? Where does it start and what feeds it? We're certainly not born into this world with these notions.

    Seems to me there is more going on we cannot see or understand which causes me to look inside for an unseen understanding of Spirit.

    1. These questions ring true in so many past and current senseless acts. I believe utter anger mixed with mental illness creates disregard for human life. Zero self-worth is enough to not care. I'm not saying any of this because I pity the individual who committed this terrorist act, I'm just thinking about the "what feeds it" question.

  2. There is just no making sense of how and why these things happen. Thanks for sharing your poem.

    1. I appreciate you taking the time to read it and comment.

  3. I blogged today about the little boy named Martin. I am so sad for his family. He went to heaven and had such a golden heart. Your poem is so true. We will move on. The haters will not be remembered or enshrined. Only the lost innocent ones who lives will shine like Martin's does.

    1. Thanks for stopping by, Mary. I agree, the innocent will be remembered.

  4. At first I thought you were talking about me. I always wear black. The thought running through my head was "what did I do now?"

    1. I wish that was all my poem was about, me pointing a finger at you.