PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

at one point,

in the past,

i cried on command

it wasn't because

i, otherwise,

didn't care

rather, it was due

to a narrow lens

give to me then,

accepted wholesale

as viewing whole world

without a drop of cynicism

despite all the tears

not knowing, then

that whom ever it was

focusing the lens,

or editing the pen,

controlled my cheers,

globe valved my tears,

yes, i cried on command

but, you see,

it wasn't cause

i otherwise didn't care

see, one day

i happened to be on the scene

of a breaking production

later on when I got home

turned on the t/v

and saw the little fragment

they showed

versus all of what happened which I saw

with my own eyes

some of the tears i had cried

the lens commanded i dry

or have redirected

to something else that didn't

quite

even happen

in the manner reported

and it was the same story

when i opened up the paper

from that moment, no matter

how much they tried to tell me

to trust their eye over my own two

my eyes won out

i turned off the screen

never to be turned on again

then i lined my rabbit's hutch

with the op-ed covered newspaper pages

and fed the rabbit a little extra that day

for added emphasis

suddenly,

the world was bigger

i was smaller

the reasons for everything

were more complicated

and, yet,

somehow

that was far less scary

but,

perhaps,

most importantly

at one time,

in the past,

i cried on command

but now the flow of my cheers,

jeers and my tears

are much more in my hands

now, i cry,

upon my own command

there's so much more about which I care

that headlines twisted or never shared