Choices

 

I was raised a good girl, to toe the church’s line

with a God who sat in judgment, who read our hearts and minds;

who sent His son to guide us, to show a better way:

leading by example He held the people sway.

With faith in Him the blind man was healed to see again

the hungry and the thirsty found shelter from their pain.

The only time He angered was at the temple gates

at the merchants and the profiteers with gold upon their plates.

The hypocrites will tell you that they believe in God

while holding up a bible as proof that they weren’t bought.

They’ll tout themselves as Christians, and while they have your ear

they’ll bastardize the scriptures like God has sent them here.

I believe that we are here to help the marginalized

to speak for those who cannot speak, whom others criticize;

to balance words with actions, to temper our replies

ever wary of the wolves who wear a sheep’s disguise.

The scales of power and justice rarely balance out

it’s hard to compromise as the other side refutes,

it’s hard to put ourselves in someone else’s shoes

but if we cannot do this then everyone will lose.

 

You stand upon your pulpit and dictate your beliefs,

while narrowing our choices pretending you’re aggrieved;

You want to keep the destitute underneath your thumb;

and hammer us with hate and lies until we’re feeling numb

eroding all we know as truth somewhere deep inside

leveling our souls to try to make us compromise.

 The woman at the checkout is not some Welfare queen,

the homeless man down on his luck can get back up again.

The elderly, dependant on the benefits they’ve earned,

live in fear of finding out the laws are overturned.

The 10 year old who’s pregnant, a baby still herself,

is left without a choice of where to go for help

And uprooting the immigrants, while thinking you are clever–

only proves how black the hearts intent on this endeavor.

And that is why I penned this poem, to call out and remind

take to the polls November, so much is on the line.

© GB 2022

The news is filled with conflicting information, and he said, she saids. We all make our choices, I hope my own are rooted in science, common sense and decency, though some may dispute that.  I don't care, for they are my choices! I have attached links back to news articles including a local shelter who helps the homeless get back on their feet. There will be much back and forth between politicians who want your vote. Vote your heart, and let your voice be heard!

Fade to Black

 

She stares out of her window at the dust out in the street

traffic backed to corner, the drivers rally to compete,

and she dreams of being elsewhere, away from all this pain

of dancing ‘cross the rooftops as the daylight wanes,

and watching stars pop one by one, lanterns in the sky

she ponders of the life she’s had and all that it implied,

To her, death is quite romantic, fade gently into black

surrender to the calling, no regrets to retract.

So when the reaper comes for her,  she will not ask him why

just nod with her acceptance, and whisper her reply

surrendering to darkness, she’ll sail out past the moon

just another shining light to leave the world too soon.

©Ginny Brannan 2022

Written from a Prompt seen on  D'Verse Poetry under the guidance of Bjorn Brudberg  the prompt exploring Beat Poetry and particularly the lyrics of Bob Dylan. The challenge to write and use this particular line from Desolation Row from Dylan's 1965 record "Highway 61 Revisited:

"To her death is quite romantic"

I'm not good at prose, so I wrote this instead.