Roadways have flayed greyed arteries
Into the greenaries of the land.
A kingdom of metallic cities,
An empire built upon shifting sands.

And bombs stain the badlands
In dusty countries far ashore.
It is a time for distractive actions
And a constant state of war.

But what a dull reality!
To focus on the undulations,
The consequences of being free,
The purge of the weaker nations.

For life can be easy
If you live through glossy pages.
The life and lies of a celebrity;
The superficial ages.

A sorry state for families
Who talk only about the weather
And other temporal pleasantries,
On their proud suites made of leather.

Oh, what a poor affair!
Caring more for the clouds above,
Than the climates of our world-weary hearts,
and for all the ones we love.

And lo, we're careless and carefree
for all that does not appear on screen.
They'd gush over some royal baby,
But not pine over the unseen.

Our modern sicknesses
Are conjured and conceited too.
For what value is there in compassion,
If oneself is feeling blue?

Does charity begin at home?
You once said it does nothing at all.
But is home solely what you own,
In a world so close and so small?

These questions are silent,
But they are asked in the thousands.
By all those that are used to deaf ears,
Across all oceans and lands.

To the soft-hearted I call thee,
To not be so stilled and so dampened.
By the weight of the majority,
the crowds of the minds unopened.

And to myself I hope,
That we shall meet dear reader.
Above your recitation of my words,
To something more real,
To something much clearer.