This post goes with the poem, "Names We Sing in Sleep & Anger" by Amoud Jamoul Johnson. I could not add comments to the poem without everything mashing together as if it was part of the poet's work. I had chose the poem because the poet wrote so eloquently about anger and how it stays in one's life and molds it.
I am living in a country at war with itself and with a few people with the same problem. I don't understand it, but I can attest to the extent that it does change, mold and moves you to do things you would probably not do otherwise. There is a family who are unable to do otherwise or so it looks from where I am.
As a youth, I came from school to see my friends no longer living but victims of violence and many at the hands of people who swore they loved them. So much for love. I was lucky in that I never questioned that it was a god that made all that heartache and violence possible. I saw it as people doing it to themselves as I see it now.
As for the dead reminding the living, the Korean War started 60 years ago and nothing has changed those who jump up and down threating a new one anymore than the war of my youth when I came home from college 40 years ago. The coming storms then have come and gone. The Viet Nam War did not teach anyone anything and those I knew in my youth played the same roles in the same play over and over again. My father never did learn his role in the tragedy that was played out in our family. My mother never did learn what her actions did to her children. And on it goes. I am just trying to learn mine. Destruction does dance slapdash and unashamed everywhere and still the human race survives.
I am living in a country at war with itself and with a few people with the same problem. I don't understand it, but I can attest to the extent that it does change, mold and moves you to do things you would probably not do otherwise. There is a family who are unable to do otherwise or so it looks from where I am.
As a youth, I came from school to see my friends no longer living but victims of violence and many at the hands of people who swore they loved them. So much for love. I was lucky in that I never questioned that it was a god that made all that heartache and violence possible. I saw it as people doing it to themselves as I see it now.
As for the dead reminding the living, the Korean War started 60 years ago and nothing has changed those who jump up and down threating a new one anymore than the war of my youth when I came home from college 40 years ago. The coming storms then have come and gone. The Viet Nam War did not teach anyone anything and those I knew in my youth played the same roles in the same play over and over again. My father never did learn his role in the tragedy that was played out in our family. My mother never did learn what her actions did to her children. And on it goes. I am just trying to learn mine. Destruction does dance slapdash and unashamed everywhere and still the human race survives.
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