it's a stinkin' pity, that's what it is.

 
pity the cat sleeping
in a shard glass field,
his paws rich with
blood
 
pity the sword  
unbloodied by
combat
 
pity the cross without
spikes or  
martyar  
 
pity the bones of the
great artist,  poet,
composer, writer
feasted upon  
by savage  
history
 
pity the hard life  
feared and the  
good life taken
for granted
 
pity the cafe's of
Paris for they can
no longer hear
the laughter of
a lost generation  
 
pity the survivors  
for they have more
pain to endure  
 
pity the world that
turns and goes
nowhere
 
pity the cigarette  
burning down  
in its short
life
 
pity salvation,  
only the dead
plead for its  
magic and the
living are too
wasted to care
 
finally,
 
pity pity itself for pitys  
sake as it walks on  
two broken legs  
upon a thin  
scaffold of  
ice