Cold World

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
This is a prose poem I'm writing for my technology/future themed poetry book. It is about someone who is therapeutically telling a loved one dying in a hospital about how they are dealing with the divisive depressing state of the changing world and people. Even the though the conflicted person has to deal with harshness of new society, their loved one should go in peace knowing that they brought a little warmth to a cold world.

Submitted: June 09, 2017

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Submitted: June 09, 2017

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Yes, I realize this is perhaps A cryptic cringey cliche as you pass me by... Has not this solemn song of Our maddening world been played?

In your warmth, my heart budded But the frost of foul folk bite the meads that dare bloom. Before you depart, listen please, For in this icy realm, I feel alone, freezing, and afraid.

The hearts of All folk, left, right, Gold, bronze, Brown and white,

Replaced with a crux of Cold shiny graphite that pumps frigid fluid slush. Out there, it is my think or no think If you not with me in thought, you should hush.

People ironically cannot chill, But they dawn armor of ice to deflect the bullets. In their foolishness they fail to realize, You cannot keep deflecting inner things that make you animate.

The trusting, soft, yet resilient Yielding flesh is turning to cold hard stone. Look, people who nurse for you In here, a lack of ethos turned them into drones.

As you lay on death's most beloved common reaping grounds Within white walls of this Cold institution of healing renewal, I frown.

The world is changing Into an arctic of black and white. The gray is now Conflicted, dare they fight?

Like the chair I sit in now, I feel uncomfortable in this position. The supposed resistance Fighting the good fight, but for what abolition?

As most of you are too busy Standing up only to then rest your face, To admire the now warm cushion. You narcissuses do not truly care for earth's case.

If go against the established Climate you best be ready to pay a hefty price. Matrons of the mid of east who dare speak Are subjected to icy hot liquid upon face or irrumatio of phallic dry ice.

Now is a great world of little light and So much crippling darkness that everything seems so over my head. On a journey to warming liberation I was forced to crawl, I often stumbled and fell, in a moment saw, I knew nothing at all.

One day, I emerged from dark waters To see others who, like you are now, struggling to breathe Crippled by the depths, or gone with the sea I looked upon them, my eyes with sadness, started to seethe.

I nearly drowned again when I came to see how The terroristic shrapnel that ravaged all but your spleen. As you lay there with cable, cords, and confined. I watched, as you were Dehumanized, less man more machine

Seeing this and remembering you, I realize The unnuanced white coats eviscerated your innards Long before the world could. The world is colder without fiery light like yours,

You deserved your name, Leonard


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