Little Poem Written at Five O'Clock in the Morning

 

All this violence:  wars and cruelties--
collective and individual--
carnage of all kinds,
now as always
back to the beginning of time.

Our kind endlessly slaughters itself;
our appetite for self-destruction is boundless.

Yet and still every day the sun rises,
white clouds roll across the sky,
vegetables get planted and grow,
and late in the afternoon someone
sits quietly with a cup of tea.

--David Budbill