This Heavy Load

The sky is falling

and the earth is splitting and we will fall

into the chasms created by the ground

tearing apart at its seams.


There’s nothing to inhale now —

only black smoke and guilt and regret

and that never leaves the lungs

and we cannot take a breath to scream.


And the flowers die and one by one

the animals cease to be except in our memories

and picture books and videos

and that’s all that we will come to know them by.


And our children are not who we raised them to be

and live in this world and another

that has no rules by which we recognise

except through likes, and followers, and such.


Righteousness is a gun

and a bomb is a promise for more things to come.

Fear is our language

as is freedom.


This is the world we are leaving behind.

Trash upon trash and smog

and trails of paper money

that you cannot neither eat nor drink

nor breathe.


This is the world on its knees:

civilisation pressed against the ground

and all the people struggling with the weight

of millions and millions of years

thrust upon their shoulders and backs

straining with the heavy load of their own undoing.


Responsibility is not an abstract thing

because it has weight and it is heavy

and it will crush us all

if we are found wanting.


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