Its all ok.
Till, it isn’t.
Till, my howling beast
comes to swallow me
as I drown in the hollow
corridors of humanity.

The wails of the hungry,
the horrid screams of agony,
the shelters shattered
in mind numbing madness
made by modern
technology.

Mostly, this doesn’t
even touch me.
I wipe it off,
flap that flak jacket
that is dusty
with the flakes of
the fallen and burnt.

Our history returns,
but I am tired
of playing
the soothsayer
to those who go on
behaving like raving
children slayers.

My spirit becomes
comfortably numb
as I succumb
to my own complacency,
cause to struggle
drains me
immensely,
saps what’s left
of my sanity.

But even in the cluttered corners
the poet philosopher,
lover of literature,
student of history,
cries out to me,
yelling “do not surrender
your kind-hearted wonder,
and sense of empathy.
If you do there will be
nothing left of me
and our withering
humanity.”