Pain Is Us

pain is us, the forest feels it.
pain is us, the seas suck it.
pain is us, the air is choked.
pain is us, the trees are cut
into pieces, and we write the
pain on paper.
pain is us, the earth is holed
and all its black intestines
all burned, our wars never ending
our selfishness stretching even
to the tiniest star that we still
want to own, on paper, like
torrens titles of the glitter.

pain is us, unquantifiable.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!