Every time I see the patchwork fields
as they stretch out into the distance,
with their rows of corn, endless in volume,
without having much for subsistence,
knowing full-well that people gain nothing
from eating something so innutritious,
and knowing full-well that animals too
are suffering from its mere existence,
I can't help but wonder...
Why?
Why can't we cut those squares apart
and give the soil back its mirth?
Why can't we switch back to local gardens,
the quality more than fields are worth?
Why can't we sew a new quilt of trees
and live alongside the earth?
Why can't we live our lives to the fullest
and watch the world reach rebirth?
Why do people insist that we can't,
as if the lies we've been fed are the truth?
Why can't we live without chemicals
and the consequences that fall to our youth?
Why can't we keep moving forward
instead of falling prey to those running the booths?
Why are hoards of dyed paper
placed higher by companies, so uncouth?
Is it hard work that we fear?
Is having purpose so drear?
Is material the new spiritual
since greed became the creed?
Is our health worth so little
that our system grew so brittle
that one misstep could be our death
and it all would disappear?
YOU ARE READING
Ghostwriter
PoezjaLiving with mental illness can oftentimes trap one within the inner maze of their mind. In that place, dreams, fears, wishes, and regrets all compile together to create a new world far from the one we physically exist in. At times, it becomes easy t...
