Crippled Musical Moments

Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem

Forget the spiralling melody, lark

In ever rising circles in the day.

Remember, though, the mourning in the dark

Of nightingales.  Their broken phrases say

Down here, the nighttime world, that ever vile

The mayhem and the evil never stop

In day or night.  The sphere turns ruthless while

The killing grabs the jugular.  The crop

Of slaughter rolls apace.  The rapes and deaths

In villages and towns, on city streets semicolon

In depths of jungles taking gasping breaths

Is godly in design.  The goat kid bleats.

  The sabotage of beauty far outweighs

    The lark.  The carnage turns to Satan’s praise.

~ Phillip Whidden