Colin F. Jones
I SHOUT INTO THE WIND
Awarded: August 30, 2008I shout into the wind, and argue with the echo,
For my words return from the face of the storm,
From cold stones I crawl like a frightened gecko,
For what I say brings only my good self to harm.
All the children growing older listen with intent,
While those of my age are defiantly immune,
To the rhetoric of the time so studiously spent,
Furnishing the dullness of my cold, empty room.
They have cringed in every corner where they’ve never been,
They have assailed all the mountains out of reach,
They have waded through the waters of the turbulent stream,
And they would now to their own teacher preach
For they always knew what someone revealed in their dream,
As they turn now to another’s mind to teach.
I see my grandchild doing essays conforming with thought,
Spread along the cultural and religious line,
Complying with the rhetoric her tutors have taught,
As she would never conform openly to mine.
She knows nothing of truth, nor what to believe;
She assumes all that she learns is correct,
If she ever thinks for herself she will one day perceive,
The isolation of those who object.
But she will go far, if she learns to conform,
If she has the will to re-paper the wall,
Pretending the Rose is lacking a thorn,
That all the cracks are further down the hall
Where the old paper is peeling wasted and worn,
Where she saw the tired old gentleman fall.
©Copyright August 28, 2008 by Colin F. Jones