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1, 2, 3, 4
all in line,

and yesterday
was the day before
it all made sense,
that everything was
just a little more


Vonnegut would understand
the didactic cries heard
from the priest uttered before
he hit the floor
after being impaled with
absolute truth;

as he remained --
half alive,

long enough to watch
the evil half live
a little longer than
the rest of his warm-
blooded system;

a system,
stemming from a big bang
to one-celled

then hair,

ah! wonderful hair
growing everywhere upon
the backs of one-armed
grooming apes;

and finally,

free-thinking beings
that like to be

like to be free enough
to consider
thinking freely
and pass up
on the opportunity;

only to conform to
the windblown blades
of grass
leaning to the left,

and sometimes to the right;

what a system,
black or white
that sees no exception,
no gray,
there is simply
no foreseeable day
that we shall hold a
champion cup
before this vivacious
species to drink from;


we shall drink
from our drooling
bottom lips
that seem to collect
all that is easy,
all that is 9 to 5, force fed,
with no dreams
before bed,
like when mother used to
save us
from the dark;

and little did we know --
we were the dark
that we feared.

There was never any
danger in non-
illuminated space,
only non-illuminated
hearts and minds
to be passed on to
the reproducing
underdeveloped minds
of a non-utopian
that lives handicapped
from day to day.

Just one more day,

just one more day
to live,
to possibly love,
to run among the fields
that have watched
us age,
to soar before
the bluebirds
that have fed
from our hands,

and all the while,

little did we know,
that it was their song
that held the answer
to the question,
that we all ponder
and attempt to

I want more!
from the simple-minded
Mr. Phinneaus Gage’s
of today.

Maybe in the end someone
will realize that
responsibility alone
can pierce the flesh, break the bones
and damage the
fragile tissues
that work so hard to
run the most complex

that works to control the
eco system,
solar system,
and religious hymn.

I am distracted by
that menacing bird
as he sings that
same damn song.

Chirp, chirp,
Chirp, chirp,

I know, I know
too little, too late
for this galactic fate.

They all face west and sit
listening to the messiah of
the past, present, and future day;

the message has always been
loud and clear,
and easily heard
through the simple
repetitive tune
of a gay bird,
sitting proudly
on a wire
waiting for the
final shock
of electricity
to put it out of its


and I, too,

-jonathon shank

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The following comments are for "Little Did We Know"
by huntingjonathon

"Fatalistic Gay Bird"
Fatalism can be so depressing, I mean with the possibility of a meteor blowing a huge hole in our planet and sending us back to the ice age of near extinction...and with the possibility of a huge nuclear war looming on the middle east horizon at any given moment....and with the possibility of the sun giving off a huge solar flare and burning half the earth to a crispy critter any time in the near future, maybe even 2012 according the the Mayan calender...and....oh damn, there is so much to be pessimistic about...BUT->

You turned fatalism into a sad and beautifully written introspective poem, that I enjoyed reading very much. Thank you for posting this. Oh, and by the way, it would be great to get some feedback from you...I'm sure all the Lit.Org regulars would really love to here your opinion of their own works...I know I would. You seem quite insightful and intelligent, and a very good writer.


( Posted by: TheRealKarmaTseringLhamo [Member] On: August 30, 2007 )

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