Dead Zone

It is all for naught.
The dead zone spreads.
No matter how hard I try
To stem its tide.

All the fish are dead,
In the dead zone.
There is no oxygen,
In the dead zone.

There is no air to breathe,
No life left,
In the dead zone.
Nothing is left in the dead zone.

It comes creeping upon me, the dead zone.
Pollution spilling into my soul,
Killing everything in its wake,
To create a dead zone in my soul.

I cannot breathe
Because there is a massive
Dead zone in my soul.
Where innocence used to be.

Emotion almost dies.
Even bare feeling is almost dead.
Life comes near its end
In the dead zone.

The dead zone does not just belong to me.
It belongs to all of us
And to history.
It is part of our very nature.

For centuries
One group dreamed up slow tortures
To maximize a small person’s pain.

That is what finally caused my dead zone.
The full on realization of human evil
As common place now
As it always has been through history.

It is still as true today as it ever was:
We rape women
And barbecue men,
In the name of dominance.

And so it went,
Each group claimed others were savages
And did the same
And brought more and more pain.

The small person had no chance.
Just speared with a lance
And staked to the ground for more torture as entertainment,
A cipher in history, one among the many dead.

Did one small person say one day,
“No. No to all of this. No to all of us.”
And yet still powerlessly entertain the bloody crowd with his pain?

History moved on after that “No”,
But not much.
It just ratcheted up a very small degree.
But that is history.
And history—thank God—has a long long memory.