One can't make this world,
This cold, calculating orb,
This sphere of rock and dust,
Turn kinder than it does.
This cold, calculating orb,
This sphere of rock and dust,
Turn kinder than it does.
The calculus minds are blind
To the fate of silent sufferers,
Pantomime performers
Of whom no one takes note.
To the fate of silent sufferers,
Pantomime performers
Of whom no one takes note.
Left in an icy chest of apathy
Are they who rely on heroes
On this desolate space rock;
The planet is completely uncaring.
Are they who rely on heroes
On this desolate space rock;
The planet is completely uncaring.
Specks in a sea of particles,
We float on in dissolution
Over the hellish reality
In which we ourselves are mired.
We float on in dissolution
Over the hellish reality
In which we ourselves are mired.
-
Author:
Tristan Robert Lange (
Offline) - Published: August 14th, 2024 12:24
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 8
- Users favorite of this poem: sorenbarrett
Offline)
Comments3
Beautifully stated that nature has no sense of fairness or justice it has its own rules. Brilliant!!
Thank you so much!
Beautiful write
Thank you so much, as always, for reading and commenting. Your support means a lot!
You're welcome
Message received. Can you get home? Clearly we won't be returning.
Hahaha! Indeed. Thanks for reading and commenting!
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