THE WORLD BREAKS MY HEART

The World Breaks My Heart

a young man comes up behind

a father walking to work and

shoots him dead…

he becomes a hero to some

who seem to applaud the way

he threw away two lives…

I cannot understand how

murder can be glorified

but then I am old and know

how very little I truly know…

what we do to each other

we do to ourselves as all

the holy writings tell us

yet we keep thinking

God-Allah-Yahweh

is not watching and Karma

is not taking notes…

they told us, and told us:

Buddha, Jesus, the Prophet,

but war after war, hate

breeding hate, and love

flees into hiding...

and so we are careless

with our own souls as we

slight the other, ignore

those in pain, steal from

the old and deprive

the young of meaning

and hope and above all,

grace….

Mind Police

they cancel lessor beings

who think on their own,

sans mercy, sans sorrow…

they take no prisoners--

be obedient to the latest mantra

or be made an evil shadow….

I KNOW I HAD A DREAM

I know I had a dream

not long before I awoke

but I can’t remember

what wonders I dreamt

though I feel it was a

good dream, you know,

the kind where you move

in the world and you move

the world...it’s much like

the sense I’ve had for all

my life—that I have lived

before in other worlds,

in the eternal dreaming

of the endless soul…

TO BE OLD

to be old...

each step taken-- a fear,

each remembrance made--

a struggle,

each death known--

a tear.

to be old...

every year blends

into the one before

and one behind

and the why grows

cold and wasted….

AS A CHILD I DID NOT GRIEVE

As a child I did not grieve,

I did not lament, I did not

wish life could be different,

that we human animals

might be better, as good

always as we are sometimes…

I felt sadness occasionally,

like when Santa brought me

the wrong present (clothes!)

or when our dog died but

life was too big in those

days to let the cloudy

feelings ruin my child’s day.

Now that I am an old man,

I grieve all day long-- not

for myself so much, the

price I’ve paid for my

many years seems fair--

no, I grieve for the world,

for what we human animals

have done to it, and I fear

more and more what we

might do to our Eden….

All the wars, all the hate,

all the poverty, all the

unsheathed evil-- why,

why, o why must we

forget kindness, hope,

understanding, and

most of all—love?

Why do we choose this

or that group to hate,

to put in mass prisons,

gulags, ghettos, and

in time to exterminate?

How can the same animal

that writes symphonies

and opera and poetry

and novels that draw

you in to another world,

an animal that makes art

and science and medicine

and can heal and restore

and give a helping hand,

how in God’s name can

that animal murder and

pillage and sit with its

hand on a button that

can turn our world of

beauty into a desert?

So yes, I grieve, for

the young and the old,

for the unborn and

for those who may

never be born….

Nolo Segundo, pen name of retired teacher [America, Japan, Taiwan, the war zone of Cambodia, 1973-74] L.j. Carber, 78, became a published poet in his 8th decade in over 250 literary journals in 21 countries and has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize, thrice for Best of the Net. Cyberwit.net has published 3 collections in softcover: THE ENORMITY OF EXISTENCE; OF ETHER AND EARTH; and SOUL SONGS. These titles reflect an awareness gained in 1971 when he had an NDE whilst nearly drowning: That he has—is--a consciousness predating birth and surviving death, what poets since before Plato have called the soul.