What is left of a world,
Once all potential is wasted?
When no deified spirits are listening,
And even the ivory towers are vacant,
Just the muck,
The detritus,
The residue of hope,
No longer viable,
I see piles of it everywhere,
I swear even in the mirrors eye,
Wasted potential,
Grey and cracked in the sun,
Walking here and about,
Coughing and spluttering,
Debating and multiplying,

This mess,
This population,
It pretends to be concrete,
It feigns purpose,
When it is meant for naught but the drain.

Comments
  1. What a powerful question and a deep thoughtful reply,
    “What is left of a world,
    Once all potential is wasted?”

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