Entries tagged with poem

What is a life, bereft of touch,

Wanting to share, but not too much?

Output blocks input, or so they say -

This being how you get through your day;

The sweetest highs, the bitter lows,

All lived alone. Nobody knows.

How can you change, embrace the good,

When solitude threatens to kill the mood?

We learn to choose every path of our lives.

The oaths that we take. The times where we thrive.

We have not been abandoned, neglected, on shelves.

We must, rather, confront all the flaws in ourselves.

And so this is us. Our best. Our worst.

And we come to our best when we put others first.

So we wait, and we struggle to seek out the light.

And we'll touch again soon, at the end of the fight.

- by Alex Greene

Something I found myself musing upon early this morning.

We are ...

          ... a weed.

     ... A hardy perennial.

... An unwanted mutation

     of an otherwise benevolent species.

We are ...

     ... a virulent offshoot.

          ... an unsightly blight, a canker.

     an infection, which unlike

     its predecessors, reproduces

All.

Year.

Round.

We aren't a domesticated breed.

Nobody has adapted us

     for any paritcular function.

Nobody has tamed us,

     bred us into show breeds and pedigrees,

          and beasts of burden,

     or drones,

          or lab rats.

We are, above all,

     a freak;

          a sport;

     a bastard throw

          of the genetic dice of chance,

and in our haste

     to colonise,

we're destroying our home

     and ourselves.

Untitled Poem on Isolation, Written 2021-01-20

What kind of species ARE we?

All.

Year.

Round.

We
Are A Wild
Species.

Untitled Poem on Isolation, Written 2021-01-20

What kind of species ARE we?

All.Year.Round.

WeAre A WildSpecies.

All.

Year.

Round.

We
Are A Wild
Species.