Watch me Bleed

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An older poem written on Mother's Day when crowds gathered at a train wreck as an outing — I was furious.....

Human nature is what Philosopher’s call

The endless inhuman search for thrills

The point to this pastime is as infinitely small

As a trophy hunter tracking his kill.

 

I have in my soul no lust for this feeling

No desire or need to be shown tragedy

Do people not realise the thrill they are stealing

Is merely one of life’s bitter parodies.

 

And if to these people I voice my outrage

In a callous tone they call me immature

Failing to see the vast risk they wage

By reacting naively to their “human nature”.

 

And as they flock to the sights of disasters

To satisfy their morbid curiosity

I wonder if they know what in life really matters

And my soul is filled with animosity.

 

What will it take to satisfy this brutal thirst

Is there not enough pain in the world today

That we can think of the agony of others first

By trading our curiosity for quiet dismay.

 

If unbeknownst to you in a disaster I lay dead

Would you join the crowd quenching their need

Would your heart beat with excitement or dread

As they uncaringly watched me bleed…..

 

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