The Butcher
©Dec. 19th 2019, Olan L. Smith
The wrestler slams his opponent to the floor, pin
The shoulders down, and with a count of ten
A winner is crowned, but clean the blood off the mat,
Before the next round begins, because we understand that
Another match is sure, for of the all things we know
It is bound to be a crossed word said, causing someone to throw
The first punch; can't we learn? No, it is our state of mind,
Short lived, a person's memory is short, for every kind
Of learning, we forget. We remember not our mistakes,
And wallow in our stupidity, blind of what was, what it takes
To see beyond our nose. Come all teachers and preachers,
Shout our mistakes ,so the young can yell from the bleachers
More than, "Give me an 'I'" for ignorance, give me a future,
Give me hope, give a life I can live without fear of the butcher.
YOU ARE READING
Poems from the Quill, by Olan L. Smith
Poetry"Poems from the Quill" is where I place current works that don't fall into other collections. It is here you will find obscure poems that range from constraint to free-verse. I began this collection as a contest entry, years ago, for what was then t...
