Bombs

This poem is about the many people out there in this world who have difficulty expressing their anger in appropriate fashion. Instead, their anger builds inside them until one final straw causes the bomb to explode leading to murder, shooting rampages etc.

Several lives flourish as another erupts in flames,
another tale of world-wide tragedy,
no answers only blame.
Have we not learned from past experience
of the many deeply buried bombs?
Many lay upon us just waiting to go off.

Have we not learned from prior world-wide blood
spilled by the human hand,
the needy to be nurtured so that blood won't spill from man?
Bombs among us walk the earth buried deeper every day,
as vastly ignored and brushed aside,
we let explosive crimson reign.
As another story unfolds somewhere and innocent people die,
clueless words are spoken again,
"I never thought he would do it".

Bombs that walk upon us often start early and sprout through life,
what makes the bomb explode with blood,
is never ending strife.
Defusing may be possible, difficult when the fuse looms larger,
Stoppage as it first is planted
will most likely halt the trigger.
Stigma lives on of mental health that should never ever be,
as a result the world is afraid to acknowledge
the warning signs that be.

There are many bombs among us, another tragedy will occur again,
who and what will be the target?
Who will die and live?
Vastly ignored and brushed aside, disparity will happen again,
lets wake up and help each other,
not bully each other instead.
Single looks, single words, the way one dresses, the way one appears,
lets wake up and help each other dissipate these bombs,
embrace the old and the young with faith to carry on,
that only us as humans can move as one beyond,
stop this carnage overload from reaching mass decline.

Shades of color walking free with different engulfing flavors,
all with alternate views
of how to look at human behavior.
When man spills blood from his fellow man leaving the world to conjure the cost,
its time to exclude from our values,
try to save what we have lost.
Bombs of different flavors, different shades of color,
who are taught to hide their problems and keep them deep down under.

When the next bomb drops with whatever thoughts spilling human blood,
there will be no time to think about
whether or not we are understood.
Living is dead, several are dead, who cares about what is culture?
Just unite with open arms, embrace the world together.

What are those words always spoken just after a bloody rampage?
"He seemed so shy, just a regular guy
but I never thought he would do it".
Proof of the past again and again has shown how destructive one person can be,
if a bomb is left inside of them
for what seems an eternity.
It could be you, it could be me, or someone we may never see,
I know one thing's for sure, until we learn
more and more people will bleed.

Paul Hickey
11-18-11