Authors Society - Poetry Series - Poets and Writers

AIR IS EXHAUST FUMES

by Ryan Lessard

then who will carry the torch
sit here on the porch
light dim
future still grim
ace held in the hand
don't know where to land
safely without trouble
hardest pitch and still hit a double
off the wall
into the cell crawl
on the belly as if a snake
still holding the corner down like a tent stake
medium well, just like well, but a little better
sell all the stock and enjoy the calm weather
or not vision is clear 
hoping the war won't be nuclear
random thought non stop
from rock bottom down low somehow on top
of the world as if in Tibet
peace still something unseen yet
no one despair
some of the answers still blow in the air
is exhaust fumes in a future that's dark
new world map with no room for a park
all just little pieces in a machine out of control
the ladder is miles high still can't escape the hole
world's crazy don't even have to say it
it is the rich man's game and the regulars won't play it
for much longer leaders back peddle on tough words
maybe be fearing angering the herds
of truth seekers who just won't shut up
they knocked it over, it was full and our cup
holding liberty safe inside
spilled to the floor then swept to one side
too busy at work
or watchin' the game
but this one's important tell them
NOT IN OUR NAME. . .

©2002 RYAN LESSARD, NICEFRO PRESS