not till the last dog dies

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    not till the last dog dies

    minor crimes
    committed by unwilling criminals,
    unpaid debts,
    stumbling apologies,
    grasping hands,
    desire unquenched
    unabated by temporal passions.

    no dream left unpunished
    no pointless tear unshed
    we're all just spinning tops
    in the hands of tireless children.

    when the wind becomes winded,
    and the sun grows tired of shining,
    and the hummingbird's heart
    powers its last
    tired flap of the wing,

    will the new life learn from the old?

    will all the old shepherds
    still lead us down well worn paths
    marched in obedience and despair?

    will a new savior die
    with the world watching
    while secret captors keep real freedom in a secret cell?

    won't know till we get there.

    so keep living,
    keep feeling,
    keep a defiant heart beating in your chest.

    never submit,
    always remember
    you're not the first one here.

    you damn sure won't be the last.


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    butterfly62463 commented on not till the last dog dies

    09-30-2009

    I understand but yet I understand.keep up the good work.And keep writing I like to read more,Ialready read all your poems. Its writing is your passion like me? Writing is my passions it help me cope with life.

    passerby commented on not till the last dog dies

    05-17-2009

    Powerful message with a flow all its own. A poem like this inspires much.

    cynthiakehl commented on not till the last dog dies

    05-17-2009

    excellent write! the satire to our existence as of now is point blank..gr8 job

    dahlusion commented on not till the last dog dies

    02-20-2009

    For me, this seems a bit contrived and over-burdened with cliches. This line: "we're all just spinning tops in the hands of tireless children" —— I never feel like this. This is not a bad poem, it simply does not appeal to me.

    When power leads man towards arrogance, poetry reminds him of his limitations. When power narrows the area of man's concern, poetry reminds him of the richness and diversity of existence. When power corrupts, poetry cleanses.

    John F. Kennedy (1917-1963) Thirty-fifth President of the USA

    dannyrobertm’s Poems (6)

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