Not into the mainstream of things

When the world outside, on the ground

Functions the other way around,

When it is in complete mayhem

You curl back inside and write a poem.

When words spoken

Do not come out in action in the open,

Then in utter disgust and shame

You withdraw and write a poem.

When weapons are bought and sold

To display that you are brave and bold,

The stage would play this ugly killing game,

Your hands on the desk, you write a poem.

The world would never cease to fight

A self-defeating zeal in its entire plight

When nuclear wars shouts Intelligence

Writing poems would never make sense.

But for some ears and eyes

Some severed limbs and hands

The lines could indeed stand

The brutal display of lies!

Bombs and betrayals would continue to kill

While poems safe and sound would never cease to heal.