Poem: Red Skies

The warm, forthcoming day was approaching,

Needless to say, are we ready?

Maybe like a cookout at your favorite uncle's house...

Or like the day you had put your father in the ground.

Unexpectedly... Possibly redundant, but who are we to say what we need?

Generations of depression, death, and the tallest lies

Have made us to be believe that hope falls from no sky,

And that if we even tried,

With those illnesses, our own graves--we lye.

Vivid memories are what we survive through.

And if I were to tell you,

Maybe give you a clue,

Somehow we can make due.

The recipe to life, the master of success--is no overfilled contest.

It comes with the best and yes, there is stress.

Life was never supposed to be easy, I confess.

So how can we make it more and not just less?

Horns, chains, and gore may scare you but the aftermath is what I fear.

Children being born everyday, without basic knowledge, must be taught--

Do they sense that the end is near?

The years add up, they multiply while the planet is wasting.

No more seeing, feeling, hearing, touching, tasting.

On the ground after the wars, how many are there?

The casings...

Confused, yet aware...

No false soldiers are allowed here.

My precious seedling has to grow around these other so called children.

How would you tell your child that the scariest being alive is human?