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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
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Submitted: November 25, 2011

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Submitted: November 25, 2011



Nearing seven million millions,

Rising, growing!

Moving, roaming,

Hurting, healing,

Finding, groping.

An atom in a droplet,

Dropping in a bucket,

Spilt into an ocean,

Ever growing, ever rising,

Consuming all the land like a blob,

Like a plague.


The magnitude of each life,

Is balanced on the butchers knife, 

The wielders are little to none,

Yet choking, strangling,

Pistol whipping with a smoking gun.

We're crawling on in silent hopelessness.

Finding a subtle difference,

To cling to, to give the world within our mind,

Something it is yet to find.

We purchase with a worn out soul,

A niche in history to bury our bones,

And a final completion of our shallows goals.

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