The World Does Not Look Down

The world does not look down, my dear The world does not look down. It hums while you are fading, my love And laughs, then turns around. The worms came up for mercy, They thought the world was kind. They surfaced just to taste the air, To leave the dark behind. But daylight burned their tender flesh and footsteps mark their graves. The world does not look down, my dear, The world moves on, always. The moth drifts toward a trembling bulb, Believing warmth means grace. It finds instead an open flame, And dies in its embrace. Its ashes fall like forgotten dust, And the lamp still faintly glows. The world does not look down, my dear, Death’s comfort is all it knows. The dogs are taught to bite and bleed, To tear, to please, to win. They never knew a gentle hand, That wasn’t soaked in sin. The crowd leans forward, the money falls, And the cage begins to shake. The world does not look down, my dear, It applauds the way you break. The spider builds, the broom descends, Her threads collapse like prayer. No one mourns the artist lost, Her silk still clings to air. The maker dies for being seen, The tragedy of being known. The world does not look down my dear, It rules from an iron throne. The doe beside the shoulder lies, Her glazed eyes open to the sky. The wind moves through her ragged fur, As her fawn begins to cry. Tires whisper, engines roar, Her ribs are crushed to stone. A hundred wheels will drive past her tonight, And her baby will die alone. The kitten is tied inside a bag, A heartbeat, then a hush. The plastic ripples once or twice, Then settles in the slush. Rain collects around the bin, Cradling the life that was lost. Another four cats will die here too, Their bodies stuffed in trash bags and tossed. And through it all, the hours turn, The daylight shifts and bleeds. The living call themselves divine, Forgetting what they’ll soon be. They walk above the quiet dead, And mock what they obscure. As though the soil won’t take them too, As though their death isn’t sure. The maggots will claim what remains of us, The buzzards will circle round. The same cold dirt will cradle us, Deep within the same unforgiving ground. All our cries will be silenced, And no one will hear a sound. Because the world does not look down, my dear, the world does not look down.