The Cataclysm between Honesty and Comfort

I felt so good before I started thinkin’
about all the lives lost from all the ships sinkin’.

It should be no great surprise.
We’re caught up in our lives
while growing distractions
hypnotize all our minds.

And I wish I could somehow breach the divide
of racial tension from merciless white pride,
but my voice isn’t loud enough to conquer the tide
of the waters that rise, pushing logic aside,
sending truth down the river to drown in white lies.

That pundit bullshit should bring tears to your eyes.
But, instead, we believe the twisted disguise.
It’s stirred up a madness that won’t quickly subside.
So we all find a solace, a place we can hide
as the flood waters rise from ankles to thighs
until we’re up to our eyeballs and somehow surprised
that someone didn’t stop this before it left us drifting.
But you’re someone, aren’t you? Or is something missing?
Do you not have a voice?
Is there no other choice?

Are we helpless or spoiled?
We stayed still as we boiled.
Because heat isn’t noticed when it’s turned up slowly.
And hate isn’t hate when it calls itself “Holy.”
And love isn’t love when nobody acts.
See, our future is under these constant attacks
by the apathy inside us that stagnates the soul.
We allow other people to maintain control,
providing misinformation
to a broke generation.

We’re too often concerned with validation of ourselves
until we’re surrounded on all sides by personal hells,
and the life we once had now sits on the shelves
of a ruined museum full of rubble and radiation.
Because we couldn’t be bothered to break procrastination.
Because we didn’t care who wins the election.
Because who can we pick that isn’t part Satan?
Because we’re too comfortable to create insurrection
for all of the ways we’ve been violated
and all the earth that’s been decimated
for bottom line profits selling increasing debt
until nobodies rich and everyone’s dead.

I wish I could say there are brighter things to be seen,
and perhaps one day we will discover that dream.
Perhaps there’s a place beyond our reality
where mere survival is not tantamount to calamity.
I hope that places exists and that we all go.
Until that day, I beg that each of you show
some little piece of heaven in the way your treat others.
Because we are all related, and we all had mothers.
Though not all of them treated us as they should,
that doesn’t mean you should say, “I can’t,” when you could.
Because love is the message we should always give.
No, we should not make it harder for others to live.

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