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isn't it a pity
we're heading towards the end
there's a war without a winner
and no-one left to mend

an idea that's long been buried
by those who run the show
give peace a chance is over
a dream we'll never know

for the dreamers now are silenced
truth they can't afford
the end days set in motion
resolutions go ignored

isn't it a pity
they hurried us along
made us smart but we're not ready
now we see why that was wrong

they watch and wait and wonder
do they save or let us go
are we worth our own salvation
or do we start again...

all things come to pass
and the day will soon be here
so we smile and make our way
as if we have no fear

isn't it a pity
isn't it a shame
R.I.P. George
Ikimi Festus Jul 2019
Too late,
Young worlds once hailed the antichrist
They lacked the wisdom of the Elders.
Hopelessness grew with the nine o'clock news,
A sense of loss engulfed us all
As young minds absorbed their own sorrow.
In denial, they turned away from reporters,
Ignoring prophets' warnings so earnestly shared.
Promises of youth now wilted like flowers,
Overwhelmed by depression, prejudice, and despair,
Ignorance reaping its harvest, foolishness prevailing.
Excuses abound for the impending end,
Armageddon looms ever closer, a palpable dread.
Those in power claimed education as the key,
Yet young worlds remain oblivious
To the truth that life and wealth elude man's currency.
Youthful souls trapped behind a glass facade,
Enslaved by the pressures of socializing,
The fear of loneliness infecting their minds like a virus.
The privileged dictate what is just and fair,
Defining good and evil to keep young worlds in check,
But the cycle remains unbroken, perpetuating injustice.
Amidst the clamor for gender equality they proclaim,
The clock relentlessly ticks, time slipping away,
While our guiding force watches from above.
Sharon Talbot Mar 2021
Children of Louisiana,
Swept away and drowned,
In the river’s flood
And the ocean surge.
Never have recovered
Fully from the rain falling down,
And of a city that was purged.
Ignored by the government
And its fellow man,
Follow in a long line of sufferers
Since the melting, ice age glaciers
And even a tsunami in the North Sea
That wiped out Doggerland.
Dark Ages got darker as people ran
And Britain’s white cliffs were sheared.
Times got better and then got worse,
But the people carried on.
Now, the floods are a weekly thing,
A blip on a newscast,
As lost as the victims in a mess
Of other disasters,
Of wildfires, droughts and don’t
Even mention the quaking earth
Or volcanoes! We can’t take credit
For causing those!
Rich men in their castles,
Feasting and clapping each other
On their fatty backs,
Rolling in the spoils and spills
Of oil, on the flaming water of
The American plains.
Sheikhs in old Mesopotamia
Whine about oil pipelines,
Promised to them by President Cheney,
While the people starve.
Bloated oligarchs spread destruction
All over the world, from
The Congo to Chernobyl,
Melting icecaps and raising the sea,
Sinking islands where they don’t live,
Vacationing in the Maldives,
On special rates before those go under.
They won’t fix Miami, but let it sink,
But not before they plunder
The empty towers built on foolish dreams.
Of course, they’ll be the last to go,
Crammed into mansions up in the Alps,
Fighting with the European nobles
Over who gets a crumbling palace
Now sitting on the last ice floe.
A few American cousins round each other up
To catch the Dixie Flyer down to New Orleans,
Trying to hide from the polar vortex,
A dazzling case of ignorance and greed,
Only to find the tracks buried in the sea…
Down in the mud of the deep, brown sea.
Kenneth Gray Dec 2020
Do or don't?
Just get it done!
Cause I don't wanna be
The only one
Left behind

The task at hand?
It is what God demands
Cause He doesn't want me
To be
The only one
Left behind

Will I succeed?
I am sure indeed
Cause it's the Lord's will
It is what He does need
The assurance for me
That I won't be
Left behind

Halt no more?
Of this I am sure
Cause if I do not
My spirit will rot
Then I will find
Myself
Left behind

Out of time
With no reason or ryhme?
Cause if so,
I'm not worth a dime
If I wind up being
The only one left behind

Spiritual warfare?
There's a battle at hand
To warn all the others
An honor so grand
Cause all of us know
We prefer
Not to be ******

Its time to go
And all of us know
Cause its time to change direction
And don't go with the flow
So take up your paddles
And vigorously row

Row and row
And take part in the grind
And in due time
You will find
Yourselves
Not left behind

Tis my warning
My warning for all of you
Cause the time is coming
I know this to be true
The time for each and every
One of us to find
Which ones will be left
The ones left behind
Gotta get it off my chest. Maybe all of us should look inward and see where we really stand.
SøułSurvivør Nov 2020
Looting. Burning.
Building's fire.
They rob and mob.
They do not tire.
Some are anarchists.
Some for hire.
The TV blasts. It is a liar.
An airplane skims
a telephone wire.

Where is it going?
Where can it land?
Every runway
shifting sand.
All citizens
are in their bands.
We are under
Judgement's Hand.

America.
Alive with stasis.
All opponents
in their places.
No room for love
in those rat races.
We could be gone
without any traces.

No trace of culture.
No money earned.
All gain is stealing.
Compassion spurned.
Museums raided.
Books are burned.

Hard to watch it.
Trees are felled.
Racial violence.
Hatred sells.
Anthropology
gone to hell.

All hope is
A WISHING WELL.

SoulSurvivor
Catherine Jarvis
11/18/2020
Sinking to the deeper suffocation,
I scavenge the soil for the astray nail.
A final spike to lock away the life.

As the light gets darker,
a pungent smell takes over,
smearing everything in its stench.
I descry my melting face.

Air implored perfervidly to break my obstinacy.
I dived deeper,
smiling at its desperate attempt.
Its hope to stop the dead from dying.

My fingers touch the inner debris,
aspiring to find the last nail for the coffin.
A couple of more suffocations later,
I find it;
hidden under the pile of thorns.

I pin it to my heart.
One last breath,
and I ceased at the dawn.
Sharon Talbot Apr 2020
Choices, so many choices:
Nordic noir or French comedies.
Bluegrass but not country.
Right wing or left wing:
What is useful and what is not?
Random violence doesn't help the plot.
Summer but not autumn
Moss gardens but not lawns.
The grass isn’t always greener,
Or didn’t you know?
British country houses or French chateaux.
Fishing for trout but not bass.
Sailing but no boats with gas.
Cycling but not motorcycles.
So many choices on which to pass.
San Francisco but not Las Vegas.
The Caribbean but not Florida.
Watching films of the desert but not being there.
Admiring the stars but not flying there.
Impressed by the horseman but not the cavalry.
Settling for Ubuntu but too tired for Kali.
Lumping things together is a bad recipe.
Living in Boston but not New York.
Eating peas with a spoon and not a fork.
Living like Dickinson but reading Walt Whitman.
Staying inside is nice; but run outside, shouting if you can.
Watching Downton Abbey on TV but not the screen.
Drinking mocha latte coffee but not tea with cream.
Loving travel round the world but hating the trip.
You can go exploring with your eyes but not your lips.
Deciding what's worthwhile isn't hard; just be resolved.
Critics tell you this or that, but can’t decide what's art or trash.
East or West Coast—why get involved?
Shuttle between them in electric hot rods.
Don't get bogged down with picking a god.
Followers always end up dead and all that matters
Is where they bury or burn you or scatter,
Whether you are declared saint or sinner.

But if I were one of them I would reconsider:
You can be a prophet, the calf that’s golden,
If enough of your votes are stolen.
You can even rule the world
If you ruin lives, steal countries and hurl
Thousands of lies online. These are the stakes.
"Lawyers, guns and money": that's all it takes.
The only real price will be your soul.
But do you believe in it when you get old?
Better make a simple choice.
Speak simply in a honeyed voice.
I read the news today,
Telling me which words to shout,
Make people ignore that time is running out.
Learn to step on them and which crimes to flaunt.
And how to get everything I want,
Then I can enjoy it as the storms rage round,
Live on the mountain as the sea waters drown
Everyone else—do I only need to save myself?
I've got a bombproof mansion underground.
I can hold out fifty years in such a spot....
I would be safe and comfortable,
But then, maybe not...
g Apr 2020
wake up
there is silence outside
there is a song playing you don’t know the words to.
there are words, no, cameras on the walls
read them.
here is a microphone -
stop,
stand still,
shed your skin
we are spinning faster than your monkey brain can compute.
air thick with smoke, no —
suffocating planet shaking under plastic wrap.
did you know there are ammonia clouds on jupiter?
do you realise we are fighting over barrels of oil?
don’t touch me
because i don’t know if i want to die,
waiting for the end in the end times
copyright gb 2020
Girard Tournesol Nov 2018
These are interesting times
Blessing cursing each moment
Smelling like the '80s
Rhyming with the '60s
Cringing like the '40s
Gasping at '17

It's The War of The Worlds II
Man versus man versus nature and self
A free-for-all melee, just name it
Where bacteria and viruses
     and gas and atoms
Will be our doom in the end
But not before we've wreaked havoc

on all that we love.
and so it was. .  .
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