“I know not what World War III will be fought with, but World War IV will be fought with sticks and stones.”
In my brumal world I have everything,
Except for the things that make me zing.
Those things one can’t touch nor see,
Mean everything to me.
I had them once before,
But now they are all like lore.
I hunger for them to be mine again,
So I can remember my zen.
They give me materials to fill the void,
But I want what they’ve destroyed.
Those things that make one feel alive,
The ones that would make me strive.
I hunger for those feelings,
I hunger for the emotions they bring.
Emotions like hope and happiness,
That kept away despair and vileness.
I’d ruin every material I have with a bat,
To once again feel an emotion like that.
I was told they watch us all,
Every year from winter to fall.
But I no more believe their lies.
Those angels in the blue skies,
Only watch for the sport,
Laughing as they thwart.
Teasing us with hope,
Then as we need them they elope.
Saving Graces they are claim,
But they won’t even save a dame.
Angels are as cruel as him.
Full of evilness to the brim.