Outlook Grim (Poetry)

I talk to the page
but the page isn’t listening
it stares at me blankly
it can’t comprehend
words I hardly dare say
and the rage that is festering
I struggle with fears
that just won’t go away

I’m sickened by news
and the lies they are spinning
I’m tired of pretending
there’s hope for us all
or even a few
as we cling to the wreckage
when even the chosen
can’t sidestep the fall

Then mountain’s on fire
but old emperors are fiddling
they make their mad music
skies fill up with smoke
the jungles shrink back
while the deserts are spreading
the plastic-strewn oceans
all destined to choke

The ink cannot shout
though the book’s thick with wisdom
while paper and skin
drift together as dust
no truth to be heard
in what’s left of creation
there’s no one to fix it
now the Maker’s gone bust