By Ben Fitzgerald



I was thinking about that sky that sits upon the morning.

It  was awfully pink and bright,

As if that black cold night was hoodwinked into mourning.


I was thinking about how that white moon lingers in the morning light

Only to be grabbed by those phantom fingers that would eventually cover his face.

But who am I to sit and watch as a bystander as it taken away…


I was thinking about those trees, whose leaves were pink.

That are now shrouded and has lost its’ beauty to that artic air.

Though I just stand there on the brink of my thoughts only to ask, “Will you ever come back?”


I was thinking about that blue sky that melts into the pink swirling hew of the sun,

Only to viewed as a giant sheet of glowing cotton candy.

But all I saw was Sally Lunn.


I was thinking about how my mailbox is always ready at attention,

Only to be waitting for a couple hours on end for messages.

But I suppose that’s his intentions.


I was thinking about my house and how it stands tall,

Watching as time slowly tears it away.

Only to lay silent like a mouse.


I was thinking about the world and how we are destroying it,

Not much hope left, so we might as well be enjoying it.

But I hope that there’s hope left, so we can be rejoicing it-’s last piece of trash on this earth.


Hounded by these thoughts, I was thinking about hope and how there’s still a chance;

Rhinos and other animals dancing in their dust, cities going to bust, politicians we distrust, societies begun to rust!

But when will it end, when will we fix our mistakes, and when will we advance and think?


This poem is about: 
Our world


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