Reservation Poem

A government of false hope
Slugs it through the weeds
It takes the virginity of boys at exams
It offers them women on a billboard

Nicely framed corpses of human rights
Pockets filled with eyes blinded by atomic lights
Witches flames around a Christmas tree
A shovel full of poor people’s bones in the cellar

False hopes like flea mange on a dogs coat
I wander down the street as old as a drawer full of pop art
I come to the end of the pavement, where did it go?
Pulled from under my feet by someone buying a Van Gogh

I reach out to touch the phantoms of society
That are dressed in silk and Spanish leather
Made from glass and images lifted from the air
As the black wind of nights gust by into death

False hope in the mineral water
Drink this and you’ll become a star
False hopes in the ballot paper
Vote for this and you’ll become utopian

How sick of it can a 70 year old get
Battling the storm clouds of false hopes

Funny thing about this poem is that, I write in pen and ink t then type it up, that as I was typing it up I had an Audie Murphy western film on TV called Walk the Proud Land about an Indian agent for the Apaches. Anyway it struck me that the film dialogue for the apaches was similar to the way I wrote the poem, maybe.

anyway I decided to call the poem Reservation poem because it feels like I am living on a reservation, maybe.

Author: blackbird212012

I am interested in multimedia work: songwriting, art, and creative writing. I have been involved also in theatre and music performances.

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