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Have we run out of raw materials
needed for poetry.

The nature has all but disappeared

The smoke has blanked the sky

The sea is filled with toxic garbage

The imposing mountains are littered
with dead bodies of unlucky climbers

The Sun and Moon are eclipsing each other more number of times now than they did in the past.

The breathing air carries deadly pathogens.

Where is the raw material for writing poetry?

I cannot find any.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qrgU23IkC9w

We are like the four seasons of the earth, spring, summer ,fall and winter
First we are born like newborn babes springing into life by push of womb
then we are pulsing like heartbeats in a world that surrounds our battle cry  
Slowly we become summer letting our branches stretch strong and solid,
we still have spring in our step but we now got fires of July in our blood ;
Then falls arrives and places burnished reds and golds in our aging coat,
flecks of wisdom in our eyes and laughter lines around our aging mouth ;
Winter arrives and kisses us with her frozen dollops of snowflakes, it is
then that we first realize that our limbs are not as subtle as they used to be.
We are like the four seasons and for a good reason
one minute we are a lighthouse , a beacon
and the next we are like clothing, out of season
Time is everything and nothing in this journey of self discovery
we need to keep pace with ourselves and change accordingly
If we are to reach a ripe age of reason, then we must learn to love
each and every season of our life.
Do I Hear Amen to that ?
The best
poetry
floods through
the writer’s pen,

A wildfire of shooting stars
across papery rows
of crisp oat fields

The most delicious
imbue the reader
down crowny heads
out waltzing feet,

A lyrical nectar
ejecting the soul
into the stratosphere
Veritia Venandi Sep 2020
The sun still smiled sadly through the gloomy darkness...

And the message was clear to the world:
"The eternal sort of light shines even through the darkest eclipse...! "
Thanks for reading this! :)
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