Image

Pity

An evocative poem, by Molly, exclusively for Different Truths.

Pity,

      only pity

sediments…

 

man the

      meagre mote

worth just

       maggot-meat,

one day

         when he lies

interred

        in soil...

 
still, how

       he frenzies

highly strung

      on passions

of 

      power game

chasing

       shadows...

 

frittering

       away

energies

     for the futile

that eludes...


      cravings

quarrels

       that hijack

the humane...

worst,

      upsetting the 

applecart

      of his existence

on earth,

      this multiverse...


when can 

       conscience

be awake?

 

       high time

before

       worms

squirm

       over us,

the poor mortals!

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