The Warngeblast

The Warngeblast will only slide if you let it
Down the hallways and past the schoolyard
Amidst the chortling tithers of youth and blissful naivety

How fragile it all is, life
When one moment you can be here beside us
And the next gone, and mostly forgotten by anyone who ever knew you

A fresh faced pup in neatly creased school shorts
Skin pink and bitter to the february frost
Laying face down in the gutter with a perfect set of tire tracks running across his spine

And nothing. Not even a tightening sensation in their collective guts.
Are we really this cold, this callous?
What a stupid fucking question, of course we are.

And yet we have the gall to blame it all on somebody else?
On society, on the role models, on the guns?
The only gun I ever held was loaded, and ready to kill.

And I’m damn sure that goes double for society, how could it not?
When the real monster in this world doesn’t live under your bed
It lives across the street down in the basement, past that solid steel double reinforced bulkhead door.

And once its prey is trapped
You can’t hear the screams
From inside, or from out

And hell, before long, you won’t even fucking care
They’re lucky
Because suffering is life, and baby, they’re living.

There’s got to be no better sensation
Than the one held by the spider, who’s caught his fly
Expect maybe, than that of the flies

As her endorphins rush to the edges of her eyeballs
And her brain turns into a pile of psychedelic goo inside of her brittle little fly skull
Man, what a trip

But is it?
Joe Fat Cat down at citibank sure doesn’t agree
Joe Fat Cat would rather work his fingers to the bone for an extra night out every third Saturday of the month than to think about why he’s so god damn miserable every time he comes home alone.

But then again, he’s a moron, right?

No, I’ll say it again
The Warngeblast will only slide if you let it
So don’t let it slide,

Past the alleyways and the barrooms,
And into the hearts and souls
Of every red blooded creature on this rock

Through the screens
And the speakers
And the signs on the side of every god damn road on the planet

Through the mouth pieces
And their talking heads.
Fuck ‘em all, every last one, I say.

No,
The Wrangelbast will only slide if you let it
I only hope you’re not too late.

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~ Poem Written by Matthew Munsey ~
@matthewmunseyart

(Photo taken from Pixabay)