Weighted With Weightlessness Poem by Paul Brookes

Taking all the sad tales told and sold.
all the sad warriors home from the fight,
where metaphorical blood and guts leave hearts bare.
souls stripped of humanity, empty eyed from weeping,
listening to distant guns.

thunderclaps and puff of smoke and mirrors on the horizon.
of course we still fight useless wars deciding who is the baddie,
who will wear the white hat, heroes and the villains.
all have two eyes and see the world at different paces.

all the sad tales roll down my cheeks in fat tears,
the crimes of my generation wrought in selfishness, the ego of the me culture.
despair has always been the line between joy and sorrow
travelling unheeded the world spins on.
widening, the universe oblivious to the blue green speck of rock and water falling through the cold endless dark vacuum of space.
taking with it all the sad tales sold and told.