The trees pirouette past me
as I drive fastly,
outpacing other drivers racing
against the resignation
that this human nation
will not change
despite all that we are facing.

Time’s eternal tide
brings pressure from all sides.

Still, I go on contemplating
losses that are devastating.
Shouldn’t broken bodies bombed out
cause a pause or at least minor doubts,
but it's like their lives don't matter,
like these children aren’t even collateral.

In that realization I succumb
to a dark cavern where a
mad Minotaur makes a cold
depressing labyrinth that shakes souls.

Language is the only way
I can take control
of this stark pain,
as I use metaphors
to explain and distract me
from what is exactly
happening,

but pretty words are like
flowers scattered on
a festering wound.
The rot goes on
and all too soon
this buffoon
will fail and fall.


-2021