A World on Itself

The moon watches us kill each other–
A man bent over at the waist, stomach
falling in on itself, he will be dead
by the hour. It's hard to see a knife in another

man's hand, who's stomach bends at the waste he left
behind. There is no fresh star, no wiping
of hours. It's hard to see another knife, we sit
with our legs crossed, our minds resting

on a fresh start. We don't understand, no wiping
away what has been done. Let the moon look
at us without our minds resting and legs crossed, let
us pick up our brooms because something

has been done. The moon looks on the Earth
falling in on itself, we will be dead
if we don't pick up our brooms. Often,
the moon watches us kill each other.

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This Poems Story

This poem is based off of how we are slowly destroying each other. And as a relatively new person in this world, I know my generation is going to get handed this messed up place. It's rotted through the years, if we don't do something no one will.