Some days, the Fat Kid just feels like a good healthy debate. Now, I don't claim to be awesome at it, and I don't claim to be correct. I never claim to have all the answers. With every debate, I hope for one thing: to challenge the claims of the opposing side. Politics, culture, cats vs. dogs, it doesn't matter, I'll debate it. It's a terribly annoying habit that I picked up from my father. I'm pretty sure there are many who would gladly see me trade it in. Sorry, folks, it's part of who I am. Anyway, today's topic of fun was "veganism vs. omnivorous eating habits," and it was going along well until someone couldn't handle the fact that he couldn't difinitively prove that his argument was in every way superior to mine (I was on the omnivore's side, by the way) and he had to resort to put-downs and insults. It made me wonder something: When did we lose the ability to hold a conversation where no one HAD to be declared "the winner" or "the loser??" When and how did it become about winning rather than the quest to simply improve an idea by questioning it? It actually made me quite sad. This man has passion for his belief that I find quite admirable - i'm even a little jealous of it. Unfortunately, a wonderful debate turned personal, and instead of learning, I'm sad and he's probably fuming mad. What a waste.
So now I need to feel better - and a football draft and playoff hockey are just the thing. Oh, and while we're at it, how about I toss in some poetry?
Staring Into Battle
The drums of war beat on,
low voices carrying over the rolling landscape,
undulating with the soft rise and fall -
the earth quakes under its weight.
A general stands at the head of his army,
eppaulettes and buttons shining in the hazy glow of an often-covered sun,
while soldiers - men and brothers all -
shift and slide into their positions behind him.
The smell of nervous men is in the air,
the only certainty- some will not live the day,
not return home, never smile again, or laugh, or cry.
no posthumous tears.
They wait, sitting a knife's edge away
from destruction and triumph both,
for both will be found this day,
the drums sing it out.
A victory march and death knell have the same tune.
I've never been to war. Thanks to all those who have gone to battle, securing our freedoms. A special thanks to those in my family, generations past, present, and future. The debt is more than I can pay.
Thanks for reading.
The Fat Kid
1 comment:
Interesting comments about debate. I've often wondered similar thoughts. I should point out that this question you pose is a little ironic, given yesterday's poem about competition. Our country and culture cannot bear to be #2 at anything, and I think this need to win - even when winning is not necessary - is not something we should be surprised to see. Every debate can be nice and healthy, until you start to lose, right?
But this comment was in response to poetry, not the social psychology of a nation. I really don't like to say these kind of things, and thankfully you rarely give me cause to even think such thoughts. I've reread this poem a few times now to try and let it sink in and. . .it reads very, very generic. Usually you're very good about keeping such things accessible, universal, but my mind was pulled in a few different directions, because I couldn't really tell what I was reading - or my mind was telling me I'd read something like it before, in many places. Yes, maybe that's it, this poem feels like it's imitating something, perhaps a time period or genre, but I'm not sure specifically what. Can poetry be fan fiction? :)
I think more development could help flesh this poem out, to make it more your own and expand past the easy platitudes (which I myself have used before!).
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