Small things to make you think no.2

(this is more of just some writing, not exactly a poem, still I hope one can relate and enjoy)

Sitting beneath birds that perch upon branches of untamed trees, some pruned back so much they now wail unholy sounds from their omnipotent bodies. Cracked bark, no leaves. Scream; do the naked trees.

Swings squeak and hiss from their unoiled joints, chains rattle softly from the grinding of its metal self.

 Children play and tease the ground with their small feet padding across the wild grass; worms below feel taunted as if it were rain, soil beckoning for for the heavens to empty.

Bikes and cars of all shape and size churn clouds of heavy pollution and dangerous, strangling fumes. 

We choke and gag, but brush the idea off our conscience as just an upcoming illness, or blame for the guy who smokes from afar, even though we know damn well the wind is blowing in the opposite direction, we waft our hands in the air to rid our space of the stench of nicotine and poison, we know it truly is not there, and yet the polluted systems, our societies crumble over projects like the grand idea of BREXIT and our longing for a leader to make it all OKAY, resorting to pigs who bathe themselves in money and oils.

Fossil fuels and pigs running havoc upon our Earth... But all we can do is sit back and watch.

Not as if we have a choice, with nails in our palms, like some jew unworthy of mankind's love, and a noose of our undoing tightened around our necks.

This poem is about: 
Our world


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