What’s the Point

Scorched earth, a barren land,
Something straight from an apocalyptic movie,
The kind where some dude
Battles for natural resources
In the heat of a shadeless environ
All the while dressed in heavy black clothes,

That’s where it is.

The turmoil in the Capital,
The rising waters of the ocean,
Not to mention the waste filling up marine life,
Our junk, our refuse, our moral indignity towards
The planet giving us life,
The only place where we can live.

That’s where we are.

An insecurity of the mind,
A fluttering of the heart,
The panic of souls
Wearing nothing but reservation for a lot
Made desolate by ambivalence and insolent thinking
Conjuring thoughts just south of apathy.

That’s that.

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