the world is beyond repair. everything is broken and beyond repair.
For any sort of change to commence, the earth must scream. Shatter. It must lose balance.
The winds must roar. Loudly. violently, with the alto of a thousand beasts in tow
Followed by the maniacal crying of the sea, opening itself up to land through wild-spread erosion
Ripping the very foundation we stand on apart, piece by piece, fragment by fragment
This is reality.
Our world can never be the same again.
Not until the earth shouts at its inhabitants, with a voice of anger and justified rage
With the clouds weeping, tornadoes cackling, and the ever-present cries and pleas of the catalysts themselves:
It’s that irony of destroying everything around you, leaving everything in a destitute state
then holding up a mirror looking for who to blame other than the reflection
Enamored with the pursuit of pleasure, greed, individualism, profit, success, and laurels,
That we forget we don’t exist on our grounds but that of another; one we burn, one we kill
These grounds breathe in our hate, our inflicted pain, our neglect, our rage
And spit it out in heavy backlashes
The earth screams. The wind roars. Oceans cry. Buildings sigh. Clouds sulk.
Trees dance at a rhythm, not of their own accord.
There is displacement, yet one normalized in the form of ‘capitalism’.
This is, in its purest form, mankind’s pathetic fallacy.