What We Need?

Edge of the Universe ~ Philip Brent

Edge of the Universe ~ Philip Brent

Video games train us
Violence, murder
Hand eye coordination
Mayhem’s future
Except, perhaps
We have not reached
Reached far enough
Into tomorrow
Into all our tomorrows
Extrapolated
Final effects
So much; too, too
Too much
Death, destruction

A random boy
Twelve-years-old
Tells us
He likes to play
Play Leona
Feminine, heroin
A killing machine
This woman
With powers
Battling, decimating
Enemies, evil
Evil in context
Law of blade and gun
At twelve-years old

A random girl
Fourteen years old
Chooses to play
Play Lioner
A mighty warrior
Who bashes, brains
Slashes and stabs
Shoots down enemies
Enemies with no thought
No guilt
No care
Without restraint
Anywhere
No sit up straight
Cross your ankles
Not your legs
Always, always, always
Be demure, defer
Put yourself last

Young men who learn
To bide and wait
Learn, perhaps
Not to fight
Fight and hate
Still killing
It is chilling
Yet these roles
May begin
Start to change
Change and choose
What to toss
What to use
Both, neither
Abuse, lose

Still assassination
Character assassination
Slaying, secret
Murder, gut wounds
Decapitation
Hits and slaughter
Garrote, a perfect gavotte
For each son
Each daughter
Arms, large and small
Arms and legs
Flying away
In bloody
Balletic arcs

Bullets calibrated
Between the eyes
To the heart
Only a start
Hit and run, what fun
Drive by’s
Gang style
Cold and clinical
Explosions
Innocent, combatant
No matter
Baths of blood
Oceans of blood
Worlds of blood
Cannot be washed
Wished away
Out, out damn spot
Turn away, turn away
A way to turn
A way to learn

Our death-driven high
High-cost addiction
Addicted, always
Always coming back
Back for more
More and more and more
Yet not enough
Thrill gone
High too low
No longer play
Makes us stay
Rote, routine, habit
No longer
Enough
Hours in the day

So build more games
Ramp them up
More killing
Forget stories
Heroes, glories
Only death and blood
Spilling, chilling
Worth every shilling
Conscience stilling
More, still more
Blood, guts, gore
Till from our eyes
Our ears it pours
Till all we wish
Is to remember
How we felt before
Forget reason
Voices of concern
Code and create them
With all speed
I think they may
May be
Just, in time
Just what we need

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