After Steubenville — A Poem
©By Vijaya Sundaram
March 19th, 2013
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A sickness has stolen into our worlds.
The souls of our young men,
Swollen with self-love
(Or could it be self-hatred?),
Fatten themselves upon the spirits
Of our young women, who,
Powerless, longing for recognition,
No matter whence it arrives,
Find themselves caught unawares
In the buffeting waves
Of the contempt and hate
That pulses in the swollen, unfettered
Power-crazed glands of young men.
After such crimes, what punishment?
And who shall speak for our girls?
Filled with confusion, eager for love,
Looking for direction, they follow
False trails, lose sight of themselves,
And, trapped in a mirror world,
Desperate, surrounded, they cry out,
Lose their way, flounder, flail, fall
Out of consciousness.
And the talking heads on idiot boxes
Blame them subtly, making mouth-noises.
Do they not see the horrors they condone,
Waggle-tongued hypocrites of our time
And of our shame? Worshippers of clay gods,
They babble and preen, loose-jawed
Purveyors of muck, shaking their heads,
While our girls lose consciousness.
After such crimes, what punishment?
And who shall speak for the boys?
Lust for power and narcissism,
Hero-worship and sports-worship
Create a crazy, mirror-world with distorted
Images, reality suspended, decency snuffed out,
Morality crushed underfoot, shame splintered!
Self-knowledge drowned in manic laughter,
They cavort like Pan’s satyrs.
A sickness afflicts our children.
And our girls shall not see freedom
And our young men shall know prison.
Each imprisoned in a hell that we,
The makers of our world, need to break down.
Break down, rebuild, rename, re-teach.
And we need to teach our children well
Or we shall all go to hell.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~The End~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~