Inevitably chaos approaches
Like a truck sliding on ice-
We can’t evade the wreck-
Small shrieks so far
Turning to bad dreams
In early morning napping-
Too late to count losses
That haven’t yet come
The bullet meant for royalty
Glancing off to wound all of us-
Evil falls all around us now
Grinning and drooling
Celebrating its ignorance
Cherishing its empty places
Warning us not to look closely
Threatening to take it off
Take it all off soon
And make us watch
And make us applaud-
While we sit too stunned
To be adequately terrified
Waiting for someone
We already threw away
To save us now at last-
We can only save ourselves
If we just listen
When the music offers
Its quiet golden gift.


About janemwoodman

Singer, writer, restaurant reviewer, urban farmer, devoted lover of my husband....old and getting happier all the time.
This entry was posted in Free verse, Poetry, Politics, Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink.

6 Responses to Gift

  1. rita kowats says:

    Brilliant. I pause at
    “The bullet meant for royalty
    Glancing off to wound all of us-”

    It stirs in me the need to carefully assess the political bullets we fire, lest they further wound us all. At the same time the illusion to taking it all off draws me into the story of the emperor who has no clothes. May we be brave enough to point it out when it is the truth. Thanks again for inviting us to feel and think, Janet.

  2. rita kowats says:

    Oops…Jane. My apologies!

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