I cannot breathe
when I am sitting in the beauty of the world.
The grass tickles my palms
and clouds send me their thoughts:
Guardian trees hum in the wind,
their voices merging with those of feathered creatures
whose harmonies depend on pre-existing songs.
themselves, sitting in the beauty of the world.
Their scent intermingles with that of burning
above, around, and within.
My mouth waters at the viridescent yet untouchable apple
as it sinks into the black earth.
My eyes water with synchrony
and the smog sits on my skin caps.
It enters my ears
accompanied with the clank of metal,
making something unimportant for someone thinking they are not so.
The wealth tickles Their palms
when I am crouching in the dust of the world.
“I cannot breathe.”
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This is one of my least favorite poems that I have written. More so because I know it will not have an effect on anything except for expressing my own thoughts. The world will eventually implode upon itself and destroy all life if humans do not care for it, placing their greed before humanity. Yet, a nuclear war will end the world before we can end it ourselves. We have gone too far and few people seem to desire to see their world flourish. Written/Completed March 6, 2018