"Man made virus watch the millions die / Biggest profit of their lives...More than war it's genocide…Welcome to the chaos of the times / If you go left and I go right / Pray we make it out alive..."
Here's my poetic response written today, started yesterday.
Paula
12h
Children are most beautiful when born with clear minds that governments fog up so they are not so clear anymore. I could not write this on a machine that hurts my fingers, my arthritic feelers, touchers, child hand graspers to a world I am leaving and I am not sad to leave, but sad I could not make it better before I go. Oh, my heart feels like that first Moderna shot, a life long murmur became a loud scream at the world. WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?
I could not say on a machine what Refaat's balloon meant to me. I bought your words in hardback but would have preferred them in stone so that you never die, so the world always see what it can become, what it did become, what it should have never become.
I could not say in terse small sentences what is too large to say, so large that thousands of words and thousands of pages could not hold all the suffering, all the tears, all the failed world as seen through the innocence of a child's eye. I listen to my heart, the steady murmur it has always, some leaky valve I am told but more, a viewer of an unholy world full of deceivers and those we should not forgive and never trust again unless your balloon it there Refaat, unless your voice is not silenced but present at every meeting. The heart of my heart holds the whole world, your children and mine in a balloon, in a world we have yet to achieve but it will come because there's the case of the balloon and it hangs above us and keeps us forward with hope and courage and most of all, love
Here's my poetic response written today, started yesterday.
Paula
12h
Children are most beautiful when born with clear minds that governments fog up so they are not so clear anymore. I could not write this on a machine that hurts my fingers, my arthritic feelers, touchers, child hand graspers to a world I am leaving and I am not sad to leave, but sad I could not make it better before I go. Oh, my heart feels like that first Moderna shot, a life long murmur became a loud scream at the world. WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?
I could not say on a machine what Refaat's balloon meant to me. I bought your words in hardback but would have preferred them in stone so that you never die, so the world always see what it can become, what it did become, what it should have never become.
I could not say in terse small sentences what is too large to say, so large that thousands of words and thousands of pages could not hold all the suffering, all the tears, all the failed world as seen through the innocence of a child's eye. I listen to my heart, the steady murmur it has always, some leaky valve I am told but more, a viewer of an unholy world full of deceivers and those we should not forgive and never trust again unless your balloon it there Refaat, unless your voice is not silenced but present at every meeting. The heart of my heart holds the whole world, your children and mine in a balloon, in a world we have yet to achieve but it will come because there's the case of the balloon and it hangs above us and keeps us forward with hope and courage and most of all, love