Would I ever suspect less than the self-extinction
Of our species?
No. I have expected more, like maybe a cry
For help somewhere.
The fear of finality is always here in my chest,
But I jest.
The world does not fear its own extinction,
Its own power.
It is lying in the sheets of rebellion, unafraid
To breathe finality.
What a death, one so grand I'll be alive to
See it happen.
What a death, one so wrong I'll be alive to
See the cause.
It was us.
We committed our own suicide.
YOU ARE READING
The Beginning To The End
PoetryI've never been a poet, that much is certain, but I can tell you that it does get written. A lot. These are the collections of my poetry I've written, and some of them hit hard for me.
