Really, it was written for an online journal challenge thing -- the goal is to write 100 poems in 100 days. I find this a great impetus to toss out any number of poems that I consider rather worthless, sifting for the gems. And some of the worthless ones actually wind up either spawning one I feel has
value or wind up having some value themselves... and they never would have been written if I hadn't given up, in that forum, the "need" to write good poetry.
I think this poem has some good lines. It also has some that probably could have been written by a six year old, and not in a good way. Ah well. I like the fact that it doesn't end with any answers -- I don't have any, only the urge to query other ideas that I think are potentially worse than doing nothing.
we don't hear the noise
so much as
feel the pain in our hearts echoing
echoing the images
into the memory flesh of our minds
into the memory flesh of our eyes and ears
fingers and souls
what shall we do?
shall we look to the skies in terror,
under the icy sun?
shall we look to the east with venom,
shall we look to ourselves?
what can be done?
pick our selves up
from the rubble of our anger
dust off our asbestosed minds...