Blame

We come to each other on broken wings. We burden each other with broken things. We settle upon branches of dying trees, in the middle of a forest with dying bees. We swim in the rivers of our own decay, and blame all the others for it being this way. We see all the problems, but we have few. We say that we're one but we act as two. We talk of our sorrows, ignoring those of others. We live on tomorrows, and forsake our own brothers. We seek out highs, yet we live so low. We talk about knowledge, but we don't really know. We cry into our pillows when life gets rough. We cut down all the willows to build more stuff. We live on a planet that has become a cage. We speak of elation, but only know rage. We are the only species that has damned ourselves. Stocking our stores; emptying our shelves. We come to each other with so many words. And at the end of it all... We'll die with the birds.

So sing your songs and tell your stories, live like our children have no worries. Point your fingers and hide in shame. It's everyone's fault that we lived life like a game.

© Heather Lynn Roach

October 2019