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Tell me Jonas, will it end?
Will you see the sky above?
Will you lower your
barrel and handle,
empty the carousel
of it's kisses of death
and bury that impotent metal
along with the need
to flash it around?
One day, perhaps, perchance?
Will we no longer hear
that drum you bang
or that head you hurt
or that voice you cramp
each day, when tears
don't run inwards
no more.
Tell me Jonas, can you unwind?
Can you call it quits
on this freeform fuckup,
this four dimensional
ghastly grid
of you, against
the world that is
closing in,
inside your skull
where cause and effect
long since ago
have given in to the drug,
the too easy logic,
of the rage
you once became,
and then became
addicted to.
Will you see the sky above?
Look up Jonas,
it's right there.
Look around,
there is no war.
Nothing left to
clench that fist for.
So tell me Jonas, will it end
some other way
than this?
from reality....powerful and in some way reminded me of Pink Floyds The wall..."look mommie, theres an airplane up in the sky!!"
a sort of surreal amazement and wonder...great poem, Icingsugar, loved it maria
...and one of the most poignant. Impressive writing, Ice, and technically skilful too.
and yet it proceeds with a linear logic that makes the speaker's anguish that much more obvious. It sort of reminds me of a dramatic monologue (e.g., a la Robert Browning) in which the speaker inadvertantly reveals himself in the course of the poem. As usual, Ice writes with insight and such fluency.