I wake up to find
that the weight of the world
has rolled from my shoulders to my chest.
And I cannot roll it off,
albeit I have tried my best.
My best friends are enjoying the party,
partly; they tried to keep me from leaving,
but they are leaving me alone.
Now alone, I am living.
I cannot go back to sleep.
Deep, steep
the weight of living
is living on my chest, my:
rib cage pressed down;
lungs shaken, together;
heartbeat running over.
For all the breaths I have not been giving,
what will be given unto me?
Sleepless long nights.
Colourless mists, blue puffs, and pink powders.
Countless Doctor coats and pied smiling Nurses.
Shuffling down halls the length of the Atlantic
with brown floors, white wall tiles and fluorescent lighting.
My father frantic.
Somewhere I hear a clock ticking,
for me.
Does it really matter
whether Climate Change is real
(and it is as real as Real Madrid)
OR
if the planet is warming
or cooling
(or both indeed)?
There is no black or grey smoke,
without a human fire;
it is our own engines that are burning
from within.
We inhale what we inspire;
are you now inspired?
Or are so many of us so busy enjoying the party
that we can’t hear
somewhere, a clock ticking
for us all.
Climate Change IS real, and in many ways
we can all work — harder and faster — on curbing it.
(Image source: Wired)