Molten Poetry

Let it burn.

The earth clock ticks
tectonic plates shift
all while the fire licks
at the edges
of all of this.

“This is bliss!”

The elders would be remiss
if they failed to try and convince
the youth that their “honest wish”
was for each to be better off
and have the things
Mother and Father missed.

But… We. Are. Pissed.

Because the greatest gift
was never theirs to give.
It wasn’t LCD
cellular or
unnatural
or recorded to DVD.

It was a fucking tree
that you idiots burned
before we could see it
growing wild
and free.

So, fuck the elders,

they are fertilizer

in the making.

 

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