the creeps

I feel those goddamn creeps again
are there any curses known to man
shouted out through tears of brokenness
that will serve as sandbags against this tide

no I will spare you the futile obscenities
and hold them as heavy stones
their cool rounded flatness fits my palms
this sediment of bitterness

I mourn over morning coffee
I read the news and hang my head
I wish that in my sapling years
my selfish mind could have seen the need
and done the deed the children feed
away away over there

so take me now part and parcel
and my whining first world problems
and trade me for just one just one
of those bombed out souls
away away over there

put me in their place
of fire and brimstone
and bring them here to my breakfast table

for I am sure they would not mourn over the coffee
and I am sure my life would find its purpose

my collected sack of useless stones
left by the wayside at last