Who are we, really?
In this muddy pile
Of idealistic rubble,
Part of History
Or just memories
Muddled,
Whose very existence,
Was more trouble
Than worth,
Because we seem committed,
To toxicity
Instead of creativity and mirth
Or even,
Just forgotten, how to act
With some specks of human worth.
We are capable for the best achievements or the worst crimes... Amazing poem
Thank you Sandra for a poem of worth! Seeing those who mechanically poem after poem after poem after......it’s a breath of fresh air to see a real poet post a poem, I’m so disgusted with machine gun poems! ! ! Your poem demands question which addresses the human condition as such, thank you for being true to poetry and to yourself
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Any humanity left? The answer is 'hardly'! Sandra, you have really nailed it in this poem. The best lines are " we seem committed, To toxicity Instead of creativity and mirth" .......This is a poem all should read. So honestly and beautifully penned dear Poetess. Thank you so much......10