Sy Roth- A Poem

The Quiet of a Pickwickian World

In the silence of my Pickwickian world,

A transcendent quiet stands vigil.

Left to its own devices it rattles around, a

lonely brown-suited courier,

Hefting weighty cargo from one sooty corner to the next.

Seeks tranquility in a world where,

Fettered by golden reins

Hobbled by unceremonial chain mail

Lanced by coronets of thorns,

Astride, a long-in-the-tooth steed

Spurred on to wrestle shredded windmills,

A cavil of unrepentant correctors rest.

And they still come--

Tidal waves of disturbances,

Tsunamis that rip ashore and sweep all away

Into a loathsome pile,

Bilious flotsam of a generation bereft of empathy.

A forced silence clings to the dusty rafters

Where sages once stood

Hanging like KKK castoffs

In a closeted Jim Crow attic of rules and regulations gone mad.

A quiescent quiet demands quiet.

Nestles behind muffled screams

Of ages of piles of rotting flesh.

Dolorous vision of a peaceful world

Where peace packed for a long vacation

To Edens that exist only in fairy tales.

Bring with them untruths of understanding

Swaddled in bloody, soiled bedclothes.

Leave me to my silence,

Lave me of the Ash Wednesday smudge

Where realities come home to roost in the dim corners

Where the highwaymen have no access.