Poem #258

We’ve done it wrong when art became the main channel for pain.

We are carrying this guilt, this burden on our shoulders
that made us believe inspiration will only emerge from suffering.

Living like we do not deserve happiness,
self-sabotaging in order to create,
we made our existence a losing game.

We are a product of centuries of destruction,
believing we can say what a life is worth,
putting a price tag on everything but air,
fortifying borders instead of bridges.

We have created constructs in the name of progress
and drove our own to hunger, poverty and misery.
We played the role of the great creator and had
the audacity to say plastic straws are destroying the planet.
For the material, we have exploited the living.

Have we no shame?
Have we no redeeming qualities?
Have we no lines we decide not to cross?
Have we no humanity to stand united?
Have we no humility in the face of nature?
Have we no chance to heal what we broke?

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