Paniek modus
Extinction is real.
Something we couldn't feel.
Something we couldn't stop,
until it's obvious.
We're not oblivious,
no more.
There's no solution.
We can't see it.
There's no absolution.
We don't earn it.
Let there be substitution,
for hate, pain and sorrow.
There's no today, no new way, just a tomorrow.
We're not meant.
to be this way.
There's no time
to be spent.
We've been broken before,
now we're just bent.
It's time for a change.
To us it sounds strange.
It's time to feel rage.
We've come to that stage.
No panic, no pain.
It's time for us to gain.
18:51 14/02/2017
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YOU ARE READING
The Puppeteer's Playground
PoetryWhere the hands have taken over, the place we're calling home. Poems about what matters and what doesn't, to whoever and whatever. Poetry book ||| Cover by me
