Poetry

Primordial

The wind breezed in.
A communal sigh
To express that we were giving up.
Admitting that it was never worth it,
That we shouldn’t even bother to try.

The smoky haze
Looked like a valley slowly burning.
The visual of the last vestiges of hope.
People who relied on their faith,
On fire, used as kindling.

I begged for relief.
Some reason, however small,
To cling to this world.
It was then that I realized
The folly of thinking I could have it all.

We believe aspiration,
Hard work and a little luck
Will pull us through, but there are
Forces unseen holding us under.
Desperate and alone, deep in the muck.