Found in the Lost Pile of Civility

The year 2018 is locked away. The key, fiery hot, so as not to entice people to hold on. Look back.

I look forward to 2019. My prayer focuses on the war of words, which has reached a feverish pitch. I honestly hope people’s superiority complexes does not burn down houses; leave room to erect new powers and diminish freedoms.

I smell the fires burning and there is little relief. In our condemnation, humanity in one fell swoop, dresses outlandish lies with mixed-up truths.

Only the tree is honest.

Seems to me
as we slowly decline,
we beat around the bush,
contemplate how to survive.
Generations realize this drift,
on a sail-less boat,
the cloth wrapped around our bleeding hearts,
words confessed on bended knees,
misses the sliver in private eyes.

Same old, same old story.
The beginning is the end.
The terror in other’s minds now belongs to us.
Realize hungry is, as was,
and nothing eaten ever satisfies.

Measure our words against ourselves
need I stand upon a soapbox,
add my rhetorict to humanity’s misery?
As ash buries the smoldering coals
are we aware we are wandering,
found among the lost pile of civility?