WHY??????

man’s inhumanity to man
an inexorable wrenching stain
that blemishes man’s existence
and makes our world so pained
the hunched shoulders of man trace the torment
the heavy yoke of our lament so recalcitrant
from the origins of our beginnings
until this day among all days
man’s feet of clay are mired
in this mesh of mangled malaise
why must we maim the reflection
of our own image still
what makes man so wretched
with such a monstrous will?
have the Amistad, Auschwitz, & Big Horn
taught us nothing as we trudge on
must we weep in the blood of our brothers
unchanged by each new dawn?
repeating and repeating our transgressions
stuck on this same sullen path
unwilling to admit torturing our own souls
with such unmitigated wrath
the unending question still unanswered
the essence of man still blind
why must history repeat and repeat itself
an implacable scourge on mankind
an unrequited scourge on all mankind.
c l schrage

Envy of the Mischievious Marauder

ENVY OF THE MISCHIEVOUS MARAUDERS

It’s an early muddled morn on a snowy winter day

Undeterred the bushy tailed knaves are at play

Among the pines beyond the pane of frosty window glass

As I watch in amazement slumped in a pajama-ed morass

I envy their whimsical tricks on the limbs bowed with snow

Their antics unaffected by the watchful cat below

As they walk the swaying branches like agile tightrope walkers

They refuse intimidation by their obvious waiting stalkers

They leap and spring with unbridled “mischievity”

For this they show enviable proclivity

As I can only huddle here and dream of how it must be

To live life high in the oaks and laugh at humanity

c l schrage

OLD MAN WINTER
Hear the old man’s wily whisper echo as he draws near
The thud of frosty footsteps---his visage comes crystal clear
No mystery that jagged breath on the northern gale
The deep guttural gasps can make Beelzebub’s soul turn pale
His long icy digits grasp the hemlocks and glass the lagoon
As he settles in and sprawls out under a gossamer moon
The old man’s mane lies glistening like diadems in the night
As all beings are bade breathless by such an ethereal sight
No creature doubts the power of this oracle of old
The breadth of his mighty shadow ---makes a brave man’s blood run cold
One wave of his fabled fist can topple towering, timberline trees
Seize up rushing rapids and bring the whole world to her knees
He may seem old and weary but all wise souls take heed
Old man winter is still a demon
Who lives by his own creed.
Aye he lives by his own creed.

C. L. Schrage