The
Kind of Care I Care About
I’d admit to a prejudice,
But, banality is too widespread
To prove the dead live only here.
I’ve moved, year after year.
Wearied by the search for fonder minds
The finds I make tend for the sake of self.
Take, not give, the living way.
Pay, and don’t stay to hear unsubtle stories,
Trivial glories given status undeserved.
I’d like to say that other’s gifts
Were lifted without payment.
But, the price I pay for sanity
Confirms the pity of a culture
Which can lure ten million minds
To live within the score of finds
Reduced by mass produced response.
Aware;
The kind of care I care about
Is touted by the few,
I must make do with plundering
The wonder of remembered views,
Where time and place were peopled
By a different race than these,
Who learn so early how to turn
Such slight concerns into a view
Which does not grow.
Consigns expectancy to youth
And sheds the truth too soon
To leave sufficient room
For all the womb bred promise
Of the hopefulness of youth
Allowing us to die
Knowing that the truth
Is rarely told, and our compassion
Makes us slaves, to emotions
That are bought, and sold by knaves.
© James Rainsford 2013
But, banality is too widespread
To prove the dead live only here.
I’ve moved, year after year.
Wearied by the search for fonder minds
The finds I make tend for the sake of self.
Take, not give, the living way.
Pay, and don’t stay to hear unsubtle stories,
Trivial glories given status undeserved.
I’d like to say that other’s gifts
Were lifted without payment.
But, the price I pay for sanity
Confirms the pity of a culture
Which can lure ten million minds
To live within the score of finds
Reduced by mass produced response.
Aware;
The kind of care I care about
Is touted by the few,
I must make do with plundering
The wonder of remembered views,
Where time and place were peopled
By a different race than these,
Who learn so early how to turn
Such slight concerns into a view
Which does not grow.
Consigns expectancy to youth
And sheds the truth too soon
To leave sufficient room
For all the womb bred promise
Of the hopefulness of youth
Allowing us to die
Knowing that the truth
Is rarely told, and our compassion
Makes us slaves, to emotions
That are bought, and sold by knaves.
© James Rainsford 2013
Note to readers: Posted somewhat late to Open Link Night at dVerse Poets. I'll respond to all who visit here and leave a comment. Kind regards to all at dVerse. James.
that last stanza is esp poignant for me james...truth it seems is easy and hard to find in this world...everyone has their truth, but seldom do they line up leaving one to wonder what the truth is...and compassion, while admirable, exposes you def to emotion...ha, bought and sold by knaves...like how you said that...
ReplyDeleteThis is gorgeous. I especially loved "the womb bred promise"
ReplyDeleteOf the hopefulness of youth"
That line, knowing the truth is rarely told, smacked me between the eyes. When we stand back a bit and open our eyes, isn't it amazing how we surround ourselves with illusion to care for our own emotional being? I so love that photo, James.
ReplyDeleteThis is very moving with hidden or unhidden truths in the world. I agree with Brian the last stanza is very powerful with hints of sadness "slaves to emotions"
ReplyDeleteTruth is rarely told James - the 'truth' we are oft given is bent towards control and to appease the masses...
ReplyDeleteAnna :o]