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The world is but a canvas faded, torn, and dry, A once-blue masterpiece now choking in the sky. Hearts once bloomed like lilies in the sun’s soft tune, Now wilt beneath the neon glare of synthetic moons. We traded kindness for convenience, Truth for trending disobedience, Empathy for ego’s crown And wonder for the algorithm’s frown. Where laughter danced upon the lane, Now silence hums its dark refrain. Where children played beneath the storm, Now strangers pass, detached, uniform. O, once the stars would serenade the night, Now smog and sorrow dim their light. The constellations we used to trace Have vanished, like memory, without a face. I’ve seen mothers pray with hollow eyes, While greed feasts where innocence dies. We feed on screens, not souls, And call our emptiness “goals.” Yet I remember When home was not four walls, but warmth; When struggle shared was half its weight; When a scolding meant love in disguise, And joy was a child’s muddy fate. But love Love has become a fossil in time, A relic buried beneath mankind’s climb. We dissect its corpse in coffee talk, Quote it, post it, but rarely walk Its narrow path of give and bleed The only soil where hearts still seed. So I stand here Among ruins of roses and concrete dreams, And whisper to the hollowed seams: If love be lost, let art remain, Let poets bleed to cleanse the stain. For even in this drained estate, A spark survives Defiant. Late. A world once drenched in love may thirst, But one who yearns shall write it first. ~PJNK
0
Jan 20
Jan 20, 2026 at 3:27 PM UTC
A world drained of Love
The world is but a canvas faded, torn, and dry, A once-blue masterpiece now choking in the sky. Hearts once bloomed like lilies in the sun’s soft tune, Now wilt beneath the neon glare of synthetic moons. We traded kindness for convenience, Truth for trending disobedience, Empathy for ego’s crown And wonder for the algorithm’s frown. Where laughter danced upon the lane, Now silence hums its dark refrain. Where children played beneath the storm, Now strangers pass, detached, uniform. O, once the stars would serenade the night, Now smog and sorrow dim their light. The constellations we used to trace Have vanished, like memory, without a face. I’ve seen mothers pray with hollow eyes, While greed feasts where innocence dies. We feed on screens, not souls, And call our emptiness “goals.” Yet I remember When home was not four walls, but warmth; When struggle shared was half its weight; When a scolding meant love in disguise, And joy was a child’s muddy fate. But love Love has become a fossil in time, A relic buried beneath mankind’s climb. We dissect its corpse in coffee talk, Quote it, post it, but rarely walk Its narrow path of give and bleed The only soil where hearts still seed. So I stand here Among ruins of roses and concrete dreams, And whisper to the hollowed seams: If love be lost, let art remain, Let poets bleed to cleanse the stain. For even in this drained estate, A spark survives Defiant. Late. A world once drenched in love may thirst, But one who yearns shall write it first. ~PJNK
Written by
Princepoetry
19
Jan 20
Jan 20, 2026 at 3:27 PM UTC
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