Untitled #1 by Abe Kurp

I've been having a wee bit o' trouble getting the creative juices flowing lately, so here is a poem I wrote a few months back. There is much I could say about this poem -- I have already gone through much of that in my head -- but now I am resigned. So please allow me to simply say I like it, present the poem below, and metamorphicly pray for a change in mental climate. Ahem. Ta-da:

It is 12 o'clock noon in the countryside,

And nothing of worth has been done:
The cows are not milked,
The cheese is not hung,
– A weakling would call it a day –
But the ones newly risen
Know not of such prisons
While enjoying the singe of the Sun,
The burnings and turnings of the high-level'd Orb,
The trees and the grass of the One.

Suicide in the Trenches, by Siegfried Sassoon

Here's a cheery little poem, set in the trenches of WWI...You'll never guess how it ends.

Suicide in the Trenches
I knew a simple soldier boy
Who grinned at life in empty joy,
Slept soundly through the lonesome dark,
And whistled early with the lark.

In winter trenches, cowed and glum,
With crumps and lice and lack of rum,
He put a bullet through his brain.
No one spoke of him again.

You smug-faced crowds with kindling eye
Who cheer when soldier lads march by,
Sneak home and pray you'll never know
The hell where youth and laughter go.

If you still don't get the message, perhaps listening to this high school choir tear apart "What The World Needs Now" -- no doubt that will put it all to rights: