Death is lighter than a feather

A piece on an increasingly unstable world

Creator, help me to see through the searing hatred and contempt. Not just that which I see in others, but the swelling malice I feel within myself. More and more every day I feel the crushing immensity of it all. The rising panic in the hearts of man, like the indiscriminate violence of cornered animals. The daunting imminence of chaos and despair. The planets frantic writhing in the coils of it's slow and gruesome demise. I see the genocide of innocents, met only with indifference. I see the inherent greed in the best of us, even myself. I choke on the ashes of a world we've lost, full of regret and longing. I tremble in the deafening silence. The calm before the storm. Still nothing happens. Few care and those that do are persecuted, mocked, and labeled malcontents. And why is this? Because they want to save us despite our blatant avarice? Because they don't want this planet, our mother, the cradle of life itself, to die? Because they're justifiably disappointed with our wasted human potential. I suppose the real question is; do we all WANT to suffer? Do we have no concern for the suffering your grandchildren will inherit? DOES NO ONE GIVE A F**K ABOUT ANYTHING REAL ANYMORE?!?! ......Do I even care? Sometimes I do...but other times I don't. That is the true nature of despair. Caught somewhere between the iron clutches of indifference and blind, all consuming fury. Seeking desperately for a way to be relevant in a world full of trivialities and shallow hearts. A way to change something in this world, even if it's something as simple as creating a fictional world. A place where one might escape the perpetual terror of being swallowed up by humanity. If I can just do that, even for a single person, my life could have meaning. Maybe the good within that person could survive a little longer. If I'm not ground to dust by despair, if I can survive my species insatiable hunger, maybe my ancestors will release me from this smoldering dread, so that I might shelter in the creators hands, and be welcomed home to the last embrace of the mother.

Author's Note

Any feedback is appreciated. Share if you enjoyed it.