Masters Of Tragedy Poem by Val Brooklyn Rogers

I can talk of sunshine, happiness and
Rainbows. Should I speak of a flower is a rose is a flower.
But a rose, I suppose has infinite lives
In poetry. I could write about more blue roses. I could write about all these things again until I'm blue in the face.


But here's a different taste, which needs
to be bread. These lessons need teaching.
The appointed time is at hand. Can't

sugar coat what the subject demands.
The Masters of tragedy are secure in their
castles, their mansions and condominiums with their deadly dreams.

Uncaring unfeeling, but thinking and
knowing the fate of every tear drop.
They are growing more wicked as the days grow shorter. By winter we'll be colder. But thinking of rent hikes and less jobs for the jobless.

A somber song.
A sad cadence.
A farewell march of doom.

The treacherous gloom.
Who has chosen this?
The Masters of tragedy have bolstered

Themselves into positions against survival.
It is truly a nightmare beyond
comprehension. Cinema symptoms,

This is it I can't believe this plot, this theme, this scheme on the screen.


Haters of impoverished masses who used to be called classes. Masters of tragedy not
Likely to forgive our poverty.

Because because because excuses refuses