Amnesiacs, all: forgetting about
A plague that left no part of this world whole
As if the thing itself we really doubt
There are no skeptics left in the grave’s hole
Millions fell, but our tears are exhausted
By funereal boredom, we’re not shamed
A global pyre, by inattention frosted
The vanished are too many to be named
Too small to mourn itself is this, our world
It is dwarfed by attention deficits
Into amnesia’s drain, the plague dead swirled
No time have we for keening or strange fits
How quickly we forget those we have lost
We too will soon be into that hole tossed
About the Creator
D. J. Reddall
I write because my time is limited and my imagination is not.
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About Writing
Most people talk about things that bother them as a way to vent their emotions, another way is through writing. As I sit writing in my car, I ponder how much writing, in itself, has helped me become the person I am today. I have endless amounts of pages filled with poems, stories, and sometimes random blurbs. Writing is a window into your soul. The simple action of writing has benefited me; by helping me to achieve a better memory, helping me to learn and grow intellectually, and helping me to communicate my emotions.
By Sarah Wilcox2 days ago in Journal
Comments (6)
Incredibly described throughout the piece! Love your poem! 💌
"Too small to mourn itself is this, our world It is dwarfed by attention deficits" These lines were so deep! Loved your poem!
Throughout the story, life was there.
That last rhyming couplet was just brilliant, almost throw away, like the corpses we'll become.
thank you for giving me some existential dread!
With pathos and sincerity, this poem gives a glimpse into a dark chapter. The ability to convey a message of seriousness with an artistic touch is quite compelling.