So Many pseudoskeptics
in a world that's ****** hectic.
We're drowning in their slurry
without an antiseptic
Its Cancerous
how much they chance on us.
The cure is in the garden,
but they're killing all the plants on us.
Traditions and renditions
of stories and of ways.
They're being lost
diluted,
polluted,
as we graze away.
Like Cattle,
the battle
seems lost before its fought,
forgetting all the lessons
which mother earth has taught.
We're slipping
and we're tripping,
and I hope the landings soft.
I hope to leave a world behind
where hope is never fraught.