World Pieces

Entry to a contest.

Smoke to fire to ashes.

Birth to being to death.

None of it matters without the proper use.

 

We want to raise our children right,

But do we even know how?

Everything we grow, we destroy:

Forests, buildings, lives…

We are a breed of ruin,

Fueled by hidden greed and misplaced passion.

We sweat, we cry, we bleed

Until there is nothing inside except our own

Dehydrated souls,

And we pour it out into the crevices

So that we may deny each other.

The liquid, however, only evaporates in the heat.

 

If I could bottle up our efforts,

It’d be enough to tip the world.

But we’re rusted into firing positions

Towards one another;

We’re divided and we’ll never get back up.

 

Smoke to death,

Birth to ashes,

We’re all falling down.

Author's Note

Haaate this poem, but I'm entering it anyway!