ripples in the soup bowl

when you’ve traced your secrets into the sand
with a spirit’s hand at the water’s edge
is when the tide washes in to wash it away
& now no one on earth will have ever known you

when your face can’t be a part of this world
at the ripple & quell of a wishing well
your reflection does question former times
where no one said you could be lovely

& you’re wondering why you had to obey
when you did not wish to hold a gun
& you’re wondering why she bothered to stay
when you could not put bread in her hand

those men lined up at the soup kitchen
were never allowed to be more than hunters
with dusty hearts & those lifeless eyes

when grace extends only so far as merit
don’t be so loyal to your suffering
they’ve laid claim to your life without consent
& indentured you to kill in the name of

when disgrace has felled you for the last time
when the muffled gunfire burns in your lungs
when you wake into your funeral wreath
beyond the subatomic algorithm

& you’re wondering why you had to obey
when you did not wish to hold a gun
& you’re wondering why she bothered to stay
when you could not put bread in her hand

those men lined up at the soup kitchen
were never allowed to be more than fodder
with dusty hearts & those lifeless eyes

you can love like no one owes you
you can give however you want
but no man can bend forever
the men lined up at the soup kitchen
were never allowed to be simply human
no man can bleed forever

ripples in the soup bowl

by TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2024

13 thoughts on “ripples in the soup bowl”

  4. In the name of a dream,
    built upon the backs of

    As the soup kitchen
    serves,
    the lives of the indentured,

    Who have weighed their life,
    and found it worth;
    they’ve made a committment,

    And now they are indebted,
    to reap the wages
    of murder.

    Liked by 1 person

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