The Greater Good I often hear,
Is a God from times not near,
It demands a sacrifice,
Nothing given will suffice,
It must be torn, a stolen slice
Of love, of life, of food, or pain
To save the cake from destruction
And yet there is another way
I'm sure of it though others say
"Drown one man to save the boat!
Else all of us will sink, not float!
"Kill her in power! Seize her throne!
So those she hates, may cease to moan
And so on into oblivion
Each cry a bit of carrion
Which vultures greedily feed off
Gorging till their hunger stops
It never will for they are not
Mortal beings but timeless rot
The hate and malice we've contrived
No wonder they are so long lived!
For millenniums they've been our pets
Cared for daily as we let
Ourselves be driven down a path
That has no room for turning back
To the greater good we must then turn
An option necessary though best to spurn
And when we've made our offering
Shed blood to form a fresh new spring
We drink from Greater Good's stained cup
And lose True Good and innocence.

by

Rachaelanne S. Weiss

It's easy to read a book,
In which characters lose their lives
For a while you rage or mourn
But you're not long forlorn
Because you didn't really know them

It's easy to watch a movie
Where actors die horrible deaths
You may let loose a sob or scream in horror
But it's soon over
Because you didn't really know them

It's easy to write a work
That involves someone's dying or death
You never feel bad
And aren't quite sad
Because you didn't really know them

It's easy to listen as numbers are said
Lists of names read
You shed not a tear
For those who were once here
Because you didn't really know them

It's easy to make a decision
Containing others' lives
You may feign sorrow though insist it makes sense
But it's all a pretense
Because you didn't really know them

It's not easy to feel the pain
Of thousands of hearts ripped open
To allow your eyes
To see shattered lives
Even though you didn't really know them.

In our world, every day
People must pay
The price for others' mistakes
And often that cost can be very high
So that they must pay with their lives

Innocent people are caught in a web
Of other people's designing
Their lives are laid down by the hands of those
Who should be the ones dying

Morning to evening, sunrise to sunset
Thousands of lives are lost
But when it's others who play the game
Why should they pay the cost?

And lives are reduced to numbers
Love is but a dream
And no one recalls
That the symbols stand
For people who once had been.

It's on the tip of everybody's tongue,

Between the lines of every document,

Jumbled within all politician's words,

And what we all frantically turn towards.

It's in the smile of every friend,

In the blade of every enemy's knife,

Lost amid corruption and deceit,

And what none can ever truly defeat.

It's dripping with the melting ice,

Born upon the rising waves,

Increasing with the temperature,

And filling every being with fear.

It's somewhere in the constitution

Cut adrift from corporations

Buried in time's sands

And the debate of people in all lands

The truth can never,ever be forever hidden

And will not, cannot do what it is bidden.

“Hey dad, think you can help me?” I asked without much hope,
In my search for creativity I was below the end of my rope.
He sucked in his cheeks as he pondered a suggestion,
Hundreds of odd thoughts passing through mental digestion.
“Cabinets.” He said at last, proud of this ludicrous idea.
“Cabinets!?” I echoed. “Is that all the help that you can give?!”
“Cabinets are very useful,” My father dully said.
“They store just about anything you can't fit inside your head.”
“Cabinets.” I retorted. “Are boxes made of wood!”
“Yes,” He countered sourly. “But the wood is often good!”
“Shelves and nails are hardly fitting subjects for a poem!
To write about such things through nothingness one's mind must often roam!”
“To think,” He sighed wearily. “That I raised you so small-minded!
To fantasy and fiction your mind is firmly binded!”
“Not only that!” I did protest. “You forget conveniently,
About everything I write dealing with humanity!”
“Humanity, Shoemanity!” He waved an airy hand,
“Where in humanity can you put your food that's canned?”
“Canned food?!” I laughed contemptuously. “Is that all that's in your head?”
“Canned food is quite exciting, much more so than the living dead!”
“Oh sure!” I smirked. “I'm sure the public'd love,
A book dealing with tin and fruit and 'Please see ingredients above'!”
“Someday you'll see,” He sadly said. “That I was right and you were wrong,
By then it will be too late though, all the cabinets will be gone.'
“Yeah, yeah.” I yawned. “Get on with it. What else have you to say?”
“I already gave my warning. Inattention's price is yours to pay!”
“So is that your blessing? May I be on my way?”
He gave no response other then to turn his face away.
Pride and hurt showed clear-cut lines,
And I wondered yet again why these were ever our goodbyes.
Yet many years after how I wish I'd listened,
To the man who spoke of cabinets who's golden hinges glistened.
For the time did come when people, for one reason or another,
Decided to do away with most that made their time history's brother.
No more farmlands or apartments, no more pens or papers.
Shuttles and chemicals took care of food and housing while screens took care of letters.
So in a high-tech spaceship vainly do I search,
For a cabinet to put my books in as the monster gives a lurch.

The pen is waiting
It waits for a hand to guide it
It waits to be used.

The dog is waiting
He waits for the door of his kennel to open
He waits to be freed.

The child is waiting
She waits for laces to be tied into bows
She waits to be helped.

The world is waiting
It waits for someone to notice it's there
It waits to be seen.

The fat man had a loud laugh
The drunkard had a bray
The soldier had a bitter laugh
As he viewed the fray

The child had a bright laugh
The lady had a titter
The widow had a mad laugh
All alone at dinner

The beggar had a raspy laugh
The worker had a chuckle
If there is a last laugh
It would have to be the fool's.

Where you find a path you find a story,

A story that's light, a story that's gory.

It bears signs easily seen,

But few that you shall ever read.

You will not try, you will not look,

You will not take what could be took.

The stories are there in silent vain,

Until they are erased by rain.