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f 2d
bearing the world upon your shoulders
crippling to grasp and smothering to your soul
is this world even worth it
when there is so much darkness
atlas telamon, enduring atlas
the fates born and fostered by you
past, present, and future are
within your arms
the weight is magnificent
the torments and sins of this world displayed so glaringly to you
the pains of humanity are your pains
dread of uncertainty haunt your mind
regrets are
everflowing
yearning for past love in present time with the future a fog, but known too well
as history repeats itself over and over and over
right before your very eyes
you see a glimpse of light
effervescent
fleeting moments of light in this world do occur
but this
this light is strong, it is powerful, but as imposing as
dandelion tufts in a field of grass
like nothing you’ve ever seen before
it takes your breath away
this light is welcoming, like a laugh, but
dare you look?
dare you entertain something more?
you let yourself gaze and behold
a familiar beauty
distant memories and uncoordinated thoughts rush in
the screams of this world
the moans of your own soul
and you realize there is no darkness without light and no light without darkness
it never was and never will be
for all the magnificence this world has to offer
this light was the most beautiful you’ve ever seen
and you look
you really look
for more than a millennia you’ve shouldered the world
the inhabitant’s sins growing to become almost unbearable
the horrors manifested in such barbaric ways
in fact in many ways, you saw the earth was simply
a manifestation of your own inner self
you had become something different in carrying the weight of this world upon your shoulders
or were you always this way?
you are almost blinded with the light
and you falter
you shrug
you feel your shoulders lower, ever so slightly
this small shift in your stance causes the entire earth to quake
earth’s oceans thrown into a multitude of hurricanes
glaciers fall and cause cataclysms of avalanches
earth is no longer recognizable
and yet your soul remains intact
thunderstorms and lightning light up the heavens
dark clouds resemble thick smoke
a battle of the gods
giant gusts of wind rush over entire bodies of earth in the time it takes to whisper your name
violent tornados whisk the contents of the landscapes away
turning shards of ice into lethal weapons
and jungles into something akin to what was once the oceans
deserts into blenders where sand is more like billions of bullets
and swamps into sinkholes the size of continents
and through this all, happening in only a matter of moments, you worry you’ll blink
and the light will dim, or vanish entirely
what if the light was a dream?
but if felt like the realest thing you’d ever known
so unabashedly existing, almost in spite
darkness made this light stronger
this light gave darkness its origin
and as the flames of this world flood your peripheral vision
the light in your pupils
you inhale
and you blink
as your eyes open, you sigh out huge relief
the light is still there
and in breathing, your shrug becomes full
the world inferno crashes from your shoulders
the poles of the earth leaving your grasp
plummeting into the cosmos of eternity
embraced into the arms of another orbit unknown to you
out of your vision and off of your shoulders
your soul remains intact
and with great effort, and patience, you place your hands upon your knees
and you stand
to see the light in its full glory is to know that this world never meant anything at all
and you inch forward
for the first time since almost even you could remember, you’re not stagnant
and as you get closer, you marvel at how the light shines the exact same, not darker
not even brighter
you had wondered if you would see the light more clearly once you were closer
but no
this light existed in spite of you, in spite of the heavens, or hell, or the conception of this world
and your arms reach out, trembling
your breath shuddering
your skin is on fire, and covered from head to toe in goosebumps, you feel the winds of time breathe on your neck
suddenly the light envelops you
your eyes well into tears and your body quakes from your sobs
as did the earth
silly earth
no truer joy could you imagine
no stronger ecstasy could one feel
your body relaxes, and you breathe in sync with this light
you vow never to leave the safety of this light
if you had to carry this on your shoulders forevermore, you would
and you would not falter
and you would not shrug
your eyes already covenanted to never look away from the light, but to marvel together at the universe
in harmony, you move as one
your breaths and laughter creating a symphony of sound and light
a rose nebula
amongst many, yours and the lights story would be a sacred teaching, passed through the ages of humanity
written in stone
carved into the rocks of our planet
told through ritualistic dances by shamans
shouted before the battles of vikings
transcribed by the poets of all time
made into lullabies for the offspring to come
your very own song of solomon
eventually this story, your story, would turn into fable and myth
the earth so far removed from your presence
galaxies away
no matter who believed your story, or thought of it as a simple bedtime fable
it was always told as
the epoch genesis of love

4 - 24 - 2024
Jeremy Betts Apr 12
•°• A Twisted Classic •°•

I don't want to set the world on fire
I just want to start
To burn what's left of your heart

You took my heart as my one desire
Now I hate you
For all you did and didn't do

©2024
George Krokos Apr 12
I just don't seem to get enough of Your love
which is a matter I need to remind You of;
life in the world is not the best at this time
there is so much going on that's like crime.

The pandemic unleashed is still causing pain
though some people are finding ways to gain;
it seems human ingenuity comes to the fore
as channels are opened up for some to explore.
_______
Written in early 2022.
George Krokos Apr 12
The earth is changing
into a turbulent world
by man's heedlessness
___
A haiku written in late 2021.
Bang! I surely heard the graze of conflicting thoughts;
setting a battleground across their minds.
Every word was in a blaring tone, as every
negative word the world spoke of it; was its
quick and merciless first fire.

Bang! Shooting down the innocence of
young, innocence that was held an infant—
still it hadn’t stopped man from killing them
in an instant. A snap of  a camera, of every violent
act played on the news, following every instance.

BANG! The gun grew louder to the crime that was
deemed by fighting for resistance. And how so will we
ever find peace in a world, if all our actions leave it
in so many broken pieces?
Frank DeRose Apr 3
Sometimes it is hard to know how to forge
     ahead.

The news has never been good, but recently it seems increasingly bad.

The grass is still green here, mom.

But it's drowning in rivers of red there.
Dead and brown and gone in other words and
other worlds that are even
still
part of this
     one.

What are any of us to do?

How can any of us bear not to bear witness?
And in bearing witness,
How does any of us retain the strength to live as though all is normal when it is so painfully obvious that it is not
so painfully obvious
that this cannot possibly be considered normal
or that if it is considered normal
then it is so painfully obvious that it should not be
that we should not want to be part of a world where this is normal.

So I return again to the question of how
is any of us supposed to forge ahead in a world at war?

Sometimes I take comfort in the idea that this, too, is the human condition.
We are a communal species, but a species that has always been at war with itself.

Nation against nation, tribe against tribe, clan against clan.

The only difference now is the scale.
We have globalized and commercialized war in a way that people 200 years ago would have found incomprehensible.
We have COD-- excuse me,
COMMODIFIED is what I meant
it into video games and movies and bumper stickers of AK-47s and how
how I ask is any of us to press on in a world so on fire that cities are burning and children are lucky if we can pull them from rubble and somehow hope that they, too, will not later seek to wage the destruction they were born into and borne out of.

And yet still,
The grass is green here, mom.

I barely know how we can love this world.
I hope that maybe we can still manage to love inside this broken plane. The myth of a phoenix is a beautiful one. Born of the ashes made from fire in a world that cannot cease
fire.

Always we hope for rebirth.

Somehow we must find a way to love
something or someone or some place.

In a world where the grass is still green..
And hopefully,
maybe,
can be green in otherwheres, too.

Grass does not grow if it is not watered.

And yet
we have poured a monsoon of kerosene on the plains of dead grass in a drought amidst famine.

Recall--god gave Noah the rainbow sign, said no more water, the fire next time!

What recourse do we have other than to love?

Love that which has burned
Love that which is not burned yet and which we hope to protect.

Love one another and hope against hope that this time,
Maybe this time

The grass will grow green there, too.
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