Please don’t forget to leave your thoughts in the comments selection below! I’d be interested to know if you’ve any criticisms, ideas, and the like about the following poem. In my view, what makes us responsible beings is our existential freedom. Perhaps this is my Halloween poem for 2018, as I happen to find the idea of, “What if we were really irresponsible and just blew it?” particularly scary. Thanks in advance, dear readers!
The fate of this world is decided
At a time.
Freedom is worldly.
Every man’s choice,
Constitutes the world.
Even the breaking of dawn is a choice:
The connected tendons or the slit wrists?
a bad heart, numbed brain.
World, hammered into cardiac arrest
By a clotted conscience.
World, overcrowded with sociopathic imbeciles,
Disintegrating in unfeeling stupidity.
Bad faith, bad lies.
World, blinded and bleeding for sights unseen;
A festering, terminal illness gone undiagnosed.
World, attempting justification for its ceaseless horrors.
gory religious schisms,
follies purged in blood.
Bad diet, bad consumption.
World, submerged in dripping fat, engulfed in sloth.
Mouths wet and seeped in instant gratification ,
With brains bathed in the electricity of vile taboo.
World, eating off its own carcass;
A geographical hermaphrodite
Cut up in self-mutilation.
Bad posture, bad money.
World, crippled o’er its lowly seas,
Rasping, clasping, aching for a drink.
World, bribed by an influence of heaven
and sent straight to Hell;
A green purgatory wherein ancient presidents burn
In the liver spotted hands of feeble men
Choked in the after-life at the collar and tie.
Our hearts will pump out the bills
to pay for their funeral.
Bad choices make a bad life.
World, collapsing its existence by choosing not to choose.
The easiest choice, after all, is one not chosen.
World, one life, cascading into sudden death
Due to a nuclear stockpile attached to a hefty red button;
Supplied fertile push by an Armageddon-hungry elitist,
Famished for golden eternity.
World, swamped into a cosmic dimple,
Sinking into the blackness of space,
Renouncing its queer absurdities
And returning into galactic star-shit.
We have decided to churn ourselves
into sub-atomic compost,
Particles of stellar garbage
upon our very own volition.
If this happens,
It will be what we have chosen,
A world-wide suicide
Constructed in the shackles
of our liberation.
a great responsibility.