I sat on the porch as a flower bloomed on a beautiful spring day.
News of a shooting filled the air from within the living room.
My thoughts ebb and flow as the economy takes a turn for the worse.
Could a hurricane be the planet suffering from a flu caused by all the chemicals pumped out on a daily basis?
Buildings are giant tombstones that house the working class who are slowly dying with each fax that is sent.
We have elected fallible human beings to fix a world created by a divinity in whom there is no failure.
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Author:
Michaelpoet (
Offline) - Published: August 10th, 2023 20:58
- Comment from author about the poem: The world we live in
- Category: Unclassified
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