The Ghost of an Echo: A Mad Collection of Mad Poet Poetry

The Ugly of Our World

I sometimes wonder if there is hope for our world;

If there will ever be an end to the evil, to the environment and its people.

There is so much evil, I can see the hope squashed in their eyes.

There are bombs raining down from the sky like poorly-constructed paper airplanes.

There are children with ribs poking out from skin, and beneath that, smog filling their veins.

There are people living in civilized countries, who have to suffer from decades of hateful schools,

whose only purpose was to crush their souls,

and yet have to walk and drive (sometimes) hundreds of miles like friggin globetrotters, the same price it costs for this priceless water.

It's a human right, isn't it?

And is there hope.

IS THERE HOPE?

I think so.

I hope so.

I think it's wrong to ignore though all the good that there still seems to be.

I think it's wrong to ignore every 'are you okay?' from a stranger we see.

I think it's wrong to ignore every person that stands up, that offers a helping hand or inspiring words (because nothing rhymes with violence).

I think it's wrong to ignore the beautiful sunrise every morning, and the rise of buoyant stars every evening.

I think what I wrote might be deceiving.

I think it's wrong to hate, as hate is never the answer (and I made this mistake, too).

I think we gotta learn to work together, love together through the blue.

We can sit and hate but will it change anything?

Do you hear my cries for hope? Do you hear my cries for change?

Do you hear the world, rushing in your ears like a conch plucked from its overflooding seas?

Do you hear the world, singing in your ears like a bird tugged from a golden breeze?

I hear it.