The Lullabies That Keep Me Sane [A Compilation of My Poems]

The World is Not Dead!

This is a WEIRD type of poem... More like a short poetic story/passage thingy. But it has alot of meaning, which I hope you guys will appreciate! :)

Please don't forget to vote/ comment ^_^

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Look!

Look what we’ve done!

These scattered shards of mosaic glass, ones that once formed something beautiful and meaningful.

These old bricks that fell from buildings of history and life, molded by the hands of man only to be destroyed by them too.

These screams of silence in the distance that echo across the walls of our hollow hearts and escape only to return once more.

The dust and rubble that tremble with our very steps, though unafraid of what we will do with them because we’ve done the worst already.

Look what we’ve done!               

“It’s dead! The world is dead! We’ve killed it” One man cries, after the last deafening bomb is blasted far away leaving a piercing ring in the still air.

You ponder for a moment.

Stare at the sky above you and study those rich lines of twilight and fuchsia hope.

Muse at the birds that flock in herds together, oblivious of what we’ve done.

At the velvet air that clings around you, contemplating your every move.

“No.” You say, not looking down from the infinite and powerful sky. You feel heads turning toward you, eager to hear another human voice.

Signs of life, living.

Living? HA!

“NO!” I say louder this time. “We killed us. We killed ourselves. We’re dead.”

I paused for a moment, hoping to feel my heart beating in my chest but nothing responded in me.

 “The world is surely alive, but we’re dead and the world is fine with that!

It doesn’t need us!”

I’m hysterical.

“Heck, it NEVER needed us!

And finally after we began thinking it did and ping-ponged it around like trash… it decided to show us. We’re like ghosts! Look at us!”

I didn’t have to look over myself to imagine what I looked like.

Like a ghost. My face white with dusted cement.

 Arms covered in dry blood.

 Useless weapons of our own self-destruction across my chest.

 “No, no, no. We ARE ghosts.

We are hollow. We are dead.”

And with that everyone froze in place, the words stinging what they had left of their drifting souls. But time continued to roll by and I said one more time to let us know what we’ve done and what we haven’t.

“But the world is not.”