The glass is three-quarters empty

A pessimistic poem

Of what use was arts and culture?

Of what use was poetry and prose?

Of what use was science and technology?

Of what use were laws and philosophy?

Of what use were the church and the synagogue?

Of what use were rationalism and idealism?

When the shell-shocked bodies fell in the trenches,

and the gas chambers churned out corpses,

all that was left were the Prussian blue of Zyklon B;

the foaming mouths, bleeding ears,

and discolored pink-red-green skins

of the Holocaust victims;

and the soldiers’ blown-to-pieces remains

in blood-damp sandbags

in the frontlines.

And, with certainty, remained

the proud pointy tips

of the Field Marshals’ pickelhaubes,

and the shiny sceptres and crown jewels

of the Kings and Kaisers.

15.02.22