To renew our lease

The Sky is falling

Literally falling.

And what should we do?

Rejoice?

Is there another choice?

Embrace our loved ones while we have the time.

Or maybe things will turn on a dime?

All the news media reported a crime.

To scare people to believe what they want us to.

Force us to believe we can’t do.

That America is a crumbling empire.

No longer able to put out the world’s fires.

No jobs or food to pass around.

The water has subsided and bodies are still being found.

Millions of new homeless.

Our empathy formless.

The sky is falling as I write this poem.

Hiding under my desk, I wonder where we have come from?

From hunter-gatherers, farmers and fishermen.

To clicking plastic buttons.  Pulling strings.  Flying wings.

I still have hope, that the sky is not falling.

Or that we must all accept our calling.

To be the last generation alive.

To live long enough to teach out children to strive.

For good. For peace. To renew our lease.

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