I don’t mean for you to step in
all the sadness I spill
for me it’s like a poison
if I don’t spit it out it could kill
Nightmares, insomnia
stomach pain, the works
seem to numb me all over
to stop the waterworks
Thus I cannot vent
nor can I cry
so I write my feelings
until my brain feels dry
At least for a while
a shortish time
writing helps somehow
even more when I rhyme
But writing doesn’t solve problems
it only serves me
it doesn’t pay the bills
but it helps me to breathe
I’m losing sight of what’s important
that which makes up my heart
I see I need to be like you
give up my art
Spend my time sitting
in a cubicle chair
waste my life away
until I’ve got only gray hair
Contribute nothing but that
which you think that you need
you’ve read The Lorax
no one needed a Thneed
It’s a harrowing glance
at the impact of greed
but how many remember
when the think of what they need
They work and they buy
they go out and they spend
collecting senseless trash
until in a landfill it ends
Why have we grown
so fucked up in old age
when I know children wiser
than those I once believed sage
Wisdom is lost
thoughtfulness is dead
compassion nonexistent
have you all bashed your heads?
What happened to the days
when we thought of the trees
when we thought of our neighbors
no Lorax to speak for me
So now it seems that it’s I
who now speaks for the trees
who speaks for the people
and all those with needs
But no one is listening
no one left to care
no one with enough money
to start to repair
That’s just how they want us
kept down in the dirt
until upon this planet
there’s nothing left to hurt
Then like the old Once-Ler
they may pass on a treasure
hopefully to someone
who cares beyond measure.
