It was a noble experiment this
chaotic place where evolved the artists,
that human race, but it wasn't enough
to give them rein to create because they
found hate in every place on the planet's
face ... from in space to their nests, and tried
to compensate by rearranging who
they didn't have to rue, even though it
was absolute true their nation began
all from the one mum in Africa where
everything was shared, everyone care for
what was important -- why oh why did they
wander, squandering a sense of belonging --
or why couldn't their clever philosophies
compensate quickly enough to avoid ...
their fate. That fate that they brought so many
other nations -- from penguins to moths -- with.
— joystjohn
chaotic place where evolved the artists,
that human race, but it wasn't enough
to give them rein to create because they
found hate in every place on the planet's
face ... from in space to their nests, and tried
to compensate by rearranging who
they didn't have to rue, even though it
was absolute true their nation began
all from the one mum in Africa where
everything was shared, everyone care for
what was important -- why oh why did they
wander, squandering a sense of belonging --
or why couldn't their clever philosophies
compensate quickly enough to avoid ...
their fate. That fate that they brought so many
other nations -- from penguins to moths -- with.
— joystjohn
Aren't you idealizing the early hominids? Perhaps they were assholes too, just without sophistication. Who knows? Sorry I even thought of that. This poem springs from your habitual sorrow, which springs from things worthy of being sad about. I cannot offer any comfort, though I gravitate toward irony or sarcasm or anger rather than sorrow. Self-protection, I guess.
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