Isn’t it Grand?

     Isn’t it grand? How the sweet wind blows, and the mighty trees bow. Isn’t it so grand? Every blade of grass kissing naked feet. And each ray of light warming all with a mighty smile. Isn’t it grand? The way the water glistens with movement, and how silence can be the best of all sounds.
     Isn’t it grand? All the children bare foot and naked, and all the millions wishing for food. Isn’t it grand? No more can one sleep at night, and no more can one be alive without glaring at death all the while. Isn’t it grand? So many are cast away for having nothing, and so many forgotten for their nothingness.
     Isn’t it grand? How the sun who kisses my face drys all too many to a shriveled death. And how the gleaming water before me cannot be found closer than seven miles. Isn’t it grand? When the wind brings me sweet comfort, it yet carries pain in all of the four winds. Isn’t it grand? How as silence strikes, and I have the chance to listen, all that is to be heard is gunfire and war.

 

For those who do not see it, I have a meaning behind this.
     While sitting outside enjoying the amazing weather I began to write the first paragraph. Having trouble nearing the fifth sentence, I started thinking. “How is this so hard? I have serious inspiration busting from the seems out here? Why can’t I write?”
This was when I remembered a guest speaker that had visited that morning. He was from Afghanistan and was speaking about his country and culture and experiences. As I began wondering more and more about what I had learned I began to fit so much together.
     All over the world so many people suffer in so many different ways. I had already started a poem, and now, at long last, I actually had one to write. Something that I forgot to think about was that when I write, it isn’t about what I want to write about. I can never write about how excellent my life is when I know that so many have such trials. My issues seem microscopic in comparison.
     So I ask you this, Isn’t it grand? How as you drive with a group of friends to some party you have such a good time. And I ask you this too, Isn’t it grand? How there is a child just like you who doesn’t even have shoes, that all his friends have been killed by war, and the only car they’ve been in is one he took shelter inside during a bomb raid.

 Isn’t it Grand?
Or is it?

~ by loulocker on September 16, 2008.