Neurotics in the Making

Losing our ignorance loses our bliss.

Image by roegger from Pixabay

An ill wind rattles the
once-hushed skeleton
in the national closet.
Lacking sinew and vitality,
it can still inflict venom.

Coughing in suffocation,
our wrenched lungs and
chests reach for breath.
The only air is smoky
with past burnt offerings.

Politicians are stoked in
propaganda blindness;
clasped hands become
hairy palms that drag
us into puerile wars.

Too brutal to create,
some seek to destroy,
tied to ideology by hate.
But the game changer
is hopefully on its way.

Until then, the planet
fills up with garbage,
and in between the rot
and filth lie bits of beauty
that always refuse to die.