Sinking Fast
March 12 2024
The world has gone insane.
So much so
I’ve started to distrust
my own basic sanity.
But if truth doesn’t matter.
If reality’s in flux
based on where you stand.
If the news
is mere confabulation,
we’ve stumbled into quicksand
and are sinking fast.
What else
when rumours are rampant,
conspiracies corrupt,
and fear prevails?
When most everyone is trapped
talking back to themselves?
So I’ve given up planning.
No longer badger them
to come to their senses.
And fear that next, I’ll abandon all hope
this will pass
and we’ll land on solid ground.
Meanwhile, I’ve thrown up my hands
and decamped to the wilderness.
Out of range,
out of touch,
out of mind.
A chance, however improbable
to restore mine
to some semblance of sanity.
Before the final crash
sinks us all.
A good example of sound (a single rhyme) taking me by the hand, then letting it guide me through the poem from start to finish.
There is only so much of Trump’s depravity, stupid wars, climate calamity, and rampant stupidity I can read about before I can’t help putting down an opening line like The world has gone insane, knowing that such self-indulgent ventilation is more suited to prose, and unlikely to make much of a poem.
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