With a face of dire disappointment
I regard the world I have inherited.
What poor place is this, that reeks of smog and regret,
Despair and foul waste?
What deceitful place is this?
Disguised by ribbon and fancy fabric.
Given to me with smiles and jovial voices,
By those who's lives will fade before the clock chimes
'Too Late'.
We inhabited this paradise for a fraction of its lifetime.
Watched as it slowly burned,
Confused as to why the flames came from the torch we held.
Even smaller, the life of an individual, and yet,
Here I am;
Primed for the end of the world
That might happen before the end of my life.