Monday, October 18, 2021

Writer's Block: Creeping Doom


 I think of every tree

every insect

every flower blowing in the wind

drying up

as the heat pours from a shrouded sun

while we drive

and fly

and spout our toxic fumes

high into the atmosphere

in pursuit of profit

comfort

and ease.

Fear of loss

is fear of death.

Dying is more managable

if there is something 

left

behind.

Who knows what the future

will bring?

Maybe there's hope

somewhere.

I want my children

to have what I had.

I want life

to prosper.

I want people

to live like people

and not commodified

instruments of production.

Fuck all the barons of wealth

The tech bros

The politicians.

In the next life

They'll be intestinal worms

or fungi growing on an apple.

There's no way to fix everything

I am but

one 

man.

Lay down the burden

Accept that 

All things must pass.

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