Sam Silva

End of a New South Story

Wind away from the knotted spring
...twisted wire
and nerves on fire

...let's dissipate to smoke and ash
and buy some booze
and drain some cash
on pleasantries all cheap with smiles

...till lingering in the trailer home
we warm the last few days of cold
till Spring comes like a crucifix of peace

and we grow toothless wan and old
...our few hairs left,
all slicked with grease!

Crosses Made of Plastic

The human who would lead us
is full of shallow rage!

A dull depression
the feelings of an endless age
spent in Hells furnace
in Stalin's Siberia

but really just an air conditioned apartment
in a rented house or trailer
where the cell phone or TV
is the company such fools must keep

...who failed to find the source
of simple sweet humanity
in this map without a compass
in this jail without a jailer
or communion like divorce

flying in the face of it
toward that which was prophetic
in ruin quite pathetic

We are weaker in the mind
than the weakest kind of force
whose commercials make us blind
till we finally fall...asleep!

Sam Silva © 2018