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Maryann I Mar 12
The ice will melt, the seas will rise,
The fires will spread beneath the skies,
The ice will melt, the seas will rise,
And swallow what’s left of our goodbyes.

The bombs will fall, the war drums beat,
The hunger roams the crowded streets,
The bombs will fall, the war drums beat,
And scatter all we thought was sweet.

The air is thick, the forests burn,
The soil will crack and never turn,
The air is thick, the forests burn,
And no one’s left to mourn or learn.

The leaders fight, the nations break,
The lies they spread, the lives they take,
The leaders fight, the nations break,
And no one cares for freedom’s sake.

The waves will crash, the crops will die,
The children’s cries are lost in the sky,
The waves will crash, the crops will die,
And no one asks the reasons why.

The guns will roar, the blood will spill,
The streets will echo with the chill,
The guns will roar, the blood will spill,
And hope will vanish, stark and still.

The earth will crack, the heavens fall,
The cities crumble, one and all,
The earth will crack, the heavens fall,
And no one hears the final call.

The news will spin, the lies will spread,
The digital wars will fill with dread,
The news will spin, the lies will spread,
And truth is lost, our minds misled.

The voices scream, the tears will flow,
As we unravel, slow and low,
The voices scream, the tears will flow,
And the world ends with no one to know.

The missiles launch, the skies ablaze,
The tyrants rise, we fall to gaze,
The missiles launch, the skies ablaze,
As borders close and hope decays.

The blood will spill, the bodies burn,
The genocides, they never turn,
The blood will spill, the bodies burn,
As refugees with nowhere yearn.

The lies are loud, the truths erased,
The leaders’ words, a hollow face,
The lies are loud, the truths erased,
As corruption eats at every place.

The oceans choke, the skies turn black,
The polar ice will never track,
The oceans choke, the skies turn black,
And ecosystems fall off track.

The forests die, the insects fade,
The rivers dry, no hope is laid,
The forests die, the insects fade,
And nature’s toll is fully paid.

The banks collapse, the debts will rise,
The homeless roam with vacant eyes,
The banks collapse, the debts will rise,
As wealth divides beneath the lies.

The shelves are bare, the crops will fail,
The markets crash, the ships turn pale,
The shelves are bare, the crops will fail,
And hunger spreads beneath the wail.

The shots ring out, the streets are torn,
The bloodied cries, the youth are worn,
The shots ring out, the streets are torn,
And hatred thrives where love was sworn.

The children starve, the women weep,
The suffering’s vast, too deep to keep,
The children starve, the women weep,
As death is sold and souls to reap.

The screens will flash, the truth’s erased,
The mind’s enslaved, the soul misplaced,
The screens will flash, the truth’s erased,
And privacy’s a stolen grace.

The codes will break, the AI reigns,
The jobs are lost, the fear remains,
The codes will break, the AI reigns,
And human hands are bound in chains.

The idols rise, the people fall,
The souls are lost in empty thrall,
The idols rise, the people fall,
As substance dies and skins appall.

The hearts are numb, the minds are cold,
The stories fade, the truths are sold,
The hearts are numb, the minds are cold,
And vanity is bought, not gold.

The churches burn, the temples fall,
The faith is lost, no prayer to call,
The churches burn, the temples fall,
As lies are sold beneath the pall.

The cults arise, the masses sway,
And faith is twisted, led astray,
The cults arise, the masses sway,
As reason fades and faith decays.

The plagues will rise, the sickness spreads,
The bodies fall, the doctor dreads,
The plagues will rise, the sickness spreads,
And medicine’s a ghost instead.

The children’s cries, the wounds will fester,
The cures are gone, the doctors’ muster,
The children’s cries, the wounds will fester,
As life is snatched by every bluster.

The skies are dark, the hearts are still,
The hopelessness, an endless hill,
The skies are dark, the hearts are still,
And time slips past against our will.

The fear will grow, the shadows long,
The meaning lost, the world is wrong,
The fear will grow, the shadows long,
And we are left to weep our song.
This poem was created to express my worries for the world and the overwhelming challenges we face. From political unrest to environmental destruction, economic instability, and social decay, it reflects how everything seems to be falling apart. The repetition in the poem displays the weight of these crises, expressing the urgency and discomfort I feel as I watch the world change in unsettling ways. It’s a reminder of how deeply interconnected these issues are, and how they are leading us toward an uncertain, frightening future.
neth jones Mar 12
untitled   we'd be better served
like the bulk of resting nature appears
with no obvious contortional vouch
or *******  of a species legend
[ version 3 10/03/25
original21/01/25
untitled  we'd be better served
like resting nature appears
with no obvious self reference ]
Syafie R Mar 9
The core is cracked, the gauges red,
They swore it’s fine—now hope is dead.
Control rods jam, the heat runs wild,
No turning back, the fuel defiled.

Containment’s gone, the walls decay,
Fallout drifts in skies of gray.
A silent flash, a world undone,
The chain reaction has begun.
Your time is now over.
Your death will be slow,
and cruel.
A vulture picks
at the corpse of a fool.

When greed is worshipped,
all compassion fails.
Dogs eat dogs
and chase their own tails.

No one reads books.
No one understands law.
Might becomes right
and all succumb to their deepest flaw.

**** is entertainment,
and fantasy, addiction.
Degradation is beauty,
and cruelty, conviction.

The sun is now setting
on the city dying
Darkness begins
under a red moon rising
I'm glad to be old.
Everything’s under control.
Sure, the controls are a bit old —
nah, it’s not quite like a dice roll,
it’s all still working, kind of, all told.

Not to worry, everything’s fine,
all systems are still online
even if it looks like some redlines
are warning us of flaws in the design.

Sure, a failure happened before
that had lots of troubles in store,
hordes of red flags that could not be ignored
but were anyway. Led to one or two wars

but it’s OK, we fixed it back then
without needing to count down from ten.
Shut down your doubts, say yes and amen —
What, me worry? That’s our kind of Zen.
Inspired by this photo I took of a decrepit looking utility access point on a semi-abandoned 1970s concrete and aluminum building in Berlin: https://bsky.app/profile/jackgroundhog.bsky.social/post/3lgyhhnr5vc23
dead poet Dec 2024
i was there when it happened:
when the clowns fell off the bandwagon -
when the curtains burned down,
and the farce ran out of fashion;
when the savages dispatched -
their army of assassins.

i was there, when the world stood still
in a void so deep no beauty could fill;
when the mountain of lies -
crumbled back to a molehill;
when the rubbles rained like hellfire,
and truth had lost its will.

i was there, when the wrath of the masses -
echoed the streets, and shattered the glasses;
i later reflected, on the root of the violence -
there wasn't a good defense for the upper classes.

i close my eyes, and wait for dawn;
lay half-asleep, with the curtains drawn:
agamemnon's doom, forever lives on -
i'm still here -
and the show goes on...
Jeremy Betts Oct 2024
I want to barbarically remove my heart
And lay it like a horse head on the pillow next to you
Then challenge myself to get far away from you
Before the inevitable collapse from the lack of a heart

©2024
Saanvi Oct 2024
This town holds secrets
Don't you know?
Between the houses and their lawns,
Between the market square and suburbs,
Between the forest and the parks.
A mystery lingers
Like unsettling fog
Suffocating, deadly, murderous.
The longing silence
That draws exhales from townsfolk.
The rolling winter
That fills their hearts with dread.
For the creatures of the mountains
Come down to the haunted town
Drawing blood on sidewalks
To satisfy their frozen hunger.
The people tape their windows
And blind themselves with scissors
For they cannot bear to see the horrors.
Each season, a part of town shrinks away
Like termites eating entire wood slowly
Devouring the taste.
Soon, it will become a ruin
Uninhabited, lost in time, lonely.
What once was the American dream
Now an urban flower in a devastating jungle.
A leftover, remnant of something great, eaten away by greed,
destroyed by self hatred.
Inspired by Stephen King's novel IT and the town Derry.....
Erwinism Sep 2024
Low density,

not mostly empty

but empty nonetheless.

No definite edge

—strange for a world obsessed

with curves and edges.

We are but clustered atoms,

modest specks of particles;

we are free-thinking atoms,

and well-aware that we are.

My world began, and like everybody else,

I was in one piece;

a piece made up of clustered atoms

—free-thinking.

My craving sight,

longing to be fed;

longing to digest

an uncharted world in my mind,

not mostly empty.

The swaying room

On the wall, sunflowers are drawn

flailing under the withering sun,

waltzing with the strolling breeze,

beautiful, I thought

perfect, I thought.

It was a time when I cannot see atoms for what they are;

not mostly empty;

not mosiaced,

but in one piece.

That day we weren’t just atoms;

we were sent off to the swaying room;

we were wailing seals when our folks left

us at the care of our teachers.

A kid who sat across the table pointed his finger at my face and opened his mouth and out came the three words, ‘You are ugly.’

‘No, I’m not.’

Yes you are and so is everyone in your family.

I smiled and the more he teased me.

Ugly! Ugly! Ugly!

Lost my innocence when I was five;

no longer a ****** from the cruelty of
this world of clustered atoms.
Exit the womb at your peril,
lest, endowed with consciousness;
should have been told;
should have erred on the side of innocence
tucked under a placenta.

So began a world like everybody else;

low density,
not mostly empty
but empty nonetheless.
A world obsessed with curves and edges;
with shapes and sizes;
with colors and advantages.

Dragons are real; this much I know.
My mom used to tell me to ignore them.

As if on cue,
as soon as the school bells rang
their tongues loll out of their mouths to utter the word ‘ugly.’
The bells a stimuli
for their rabid mind.
Even at night they were cicadas in my mind’s
lawn,
chirping cutting words,
a cause of insomnia.
We were walls,
vandalized by juvenile,
nay primitive free-thinking.
Our pain covered in graffiti.

For so long we were made to believe,
the defects,
the blemishes,
the scars,
made us ugly,
all along it was their eyes.
Words have stimulated casualties
those whose souls leaped out to limbo;
souls who bought the idea that suicide
will make the torment cease;
maybe it did; maybe not,
what of the bereaved?
Words can be the longest noose.
For fear of seeing something unmeant
we set visitation hours
when we come to check ourselves in the mirror.

We wander;
we wonder,
as we navigate our way out of this labyrinth;
out of this house of distorted reflections,
we have the mistaken impression
that our images are warped,
in truth we are warped by the impressions
of us.

Sometimes we have to squint,
to view ourselves from a vantage
point where we can be beautiful;
where we don’t feel awful;
where we don’t have to take pills;
where we don’t have to dawdle eating waffles in the morning to avoid the hurt;
to avoid the prescription bottles.
People often find ways to medicate the hurt,
but not the hurtful.

Low density,
not mostly empty
but empty nonetheless.
No definite edge
how can these atoms relate words of hate?

A face cannot wear beauty,
only those who make this world a beautiful place for everyone deserves to be called beautiful.
Perhaps atoms feel better
seeing other atoms collapse.
Anais Vionet Jul 2024
have you ever grappled with despair
not in imagery, symbolism or portrayal.

I mean, have you ever felt the elevator drop
the watery weakness that extenuates breath
a depth of fatigue that makes lying on the floor a burden
an aching pounding in your chest,
the broken-glass dryness in your throat
the gritty ache in your eyes
that makes you want to close them forever?

Struggle no more, leaden limbs,
free the weary weight.
Eyes that struggle, release the light.
The body begs to no more fight.
In a blur of sluggish thought,
I whisper sleep's sweet name.
The will has dropped.
The yearning stopped.
I’ll rest on that distant shore.
.
.
Songs for this:
Nessun Dorma by Sarah Brightman
Caruso (Live at "Pavarotti International" Charity Gala Concert, Modena 1992) by Luciano Pavarotti, Aldo Sisilli
Pie Jesu by Andrew Lloyd Webber, Sarah Brightman & Paul Miles-Kingston
0730.0722
BLT Merriam Webster word of the day challenge: Extenuate: lessen the strength of something
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