the art of not caring

I don't care anymore,
for what does it really matter
anyway.

The wheel continues to go
round;
the sun continues to
shine,
and the rain eventually
falls;

the innocent are found
guilty,
and then executed,
while the guilty
laugh all the way
to the bank;

wives and husbands
cheat on each other
in the name of love;
priests and preachers
abuse children
in the name of God;

children have to become
their own parents
or parents
of their own children;

and today, it's ok to be racist,
because we call it,
social commentary.

and, why do I even bother
writing another
fucking poem,
because people
don't give a shit
about poetry,
unless
it's got a beat
you can dance to...
and not even then.

but I would dare
to put up any one poem
against any Hollywood
movie currently showing
on any screen,
for sheer audacity
in storytelling
and the conveyance
of hearts and guts,
for there is often
more truth
in one line of verse
than in 90 minutes
of utter celluloid bullshit.
and that's the double-truth, Ruth!

but like I said,
it really doesn't matter
anyway,
because nobody wants
the truth
in a world
of reality shows
and fake celebrities--
where you're only as famous
as the last crime
you committed.

and I don't even care
if anybody reads
these words--
I wrote them down
and now they're out there-
my job is done.

'nuff said!

© 2011 Joseph Powell