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Selections from Poetically Incorrect by Brian Eckert Avoidable If Discernment Spreads A plague suffocates the land One which cannot be seen Nor touched, nor heard It grows within us Its structure dependent upon our decay Irresponsibility the fuel for its success A plague has no morals, no ethics It does not discriminate or pass judgement Once the bane of a minority It now contaminates the majority The sanguinity that unites man Now tears it apart Victimes must coincide with torture Torture of living, yet dying It knows no expedient end Nor merciful ending Physical pain pales in comparison To the anguish of an imminent death The Final Frontier Upon a material battlefield A lone tower stretches towards the heavens The adjacent ivory missile lies poised for attack Ready to duel with the brink of human advancement This is a battle of mythic proportions Forged of dreams Strengthened by reality Swung by the hope of millions Fiery propulsions excite the morning air Elevating the weapon of mass construction The familiarity of mother earth becomes but a memory As an alien frontier floods the senses The ghost of science past breathes in new life As the ghost of science future breathes a sigh of relief What once was science fiction Is now the first chapter in its biology The craft sets down upon a barren surface Virgin soil disrupted As mankind tests its intellectual prowess Destructive capabilities are simultaneously extended One small step for man One giant leap for mankind One small reality for the present One giant possibility for the future Storming of the Winter Palace The stone palace shivers upon its foundation as icy cold tentacles constrict the land.  Inside, a light mood warms the chill air, and hopeful talk brightens spirits.  The golden cup of freedom is held high in toast, the echo of tinking glasses resounding in agreement.  Outside, a procession of ill intent creeps upon the palace grounds with inspiration as cold as the winter night.  Greed-heavy personas leave deep footrpints in the blanketed earth, marking the only sign of their passage.  The palace is soon inundated by the power hungry fiends, bloodshed the only remedy for their pangs of inadequacy.  The golden cup, once held high, now falls as its bearer is cut from beneath it.  Cries of pain and outrage echo through the high arched ceiling, lost among a barren landscape.  The sanguinity of brotherhood slicks the floor, straining the gilded cup a deep crimson.  The shadow of a broad form looms forbiddingly over the carnage.  It reaches down to pry the goblet from a white knuckled hand that maintains an obstinate hold even in death. Stony Solitude Fortified stone stretches as far as the eye can see A giant blemish on the face of the earth As cold and dark as those who built it Bringing a shiver to the warmest night air Keeping loves ones apart Enslaved ones together Symbolizing cold war And cold hearts Not even vermin dare scurry beneath a crack Nor insect scale its icy height A concrete fortress that entraps freedom Sets a deadly snare for hope None dare utter a flagrant word In fear their prison will grow only higher Shackles bound more tightly Yet the soul of freedom knows no bounds Shall not be tacit Thoughts of rebellion inspire words Words inspire action Action inspires movement Until a crack appears Then a break And soon hope streams through gaping holes To reveal freedom standing atop crumbled oppresion Mechanization For All Oh say can you see     By the factory's bright light What so proudly we hailed     While the farmers left weeping Whose slight pay and dull life     Through a twenty hour work day Gave proof through the night    Their weary bodies still weaving And the smokestacks did blare     Smog filling the air Children walk through the night     To a job of despair Oh say does that assembly line yet bleed     In the land of surplus And the home of greed Brian Eckert is currently pursuing a degree in political science at the University of New Hampshire. Email: eck420@yahoo.com Website: http://thebohemianexperiment.com

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