Sometimes I just want to rip the world off it’s hinges. To throttle mankind by it’s own teeth and shriek, into a thousand year shadow, of how putrid and pointless we have become. And so proud of us we are.
There is a hot white glow in the corner of my vision. I cannot ignore the reality of how small a lifetime is. Thirty years. A lot can change. Yet here we are. The future for my children is random enough to be exciting, yet foul mouthed and greedy all at the same time.
I like to think I know where happiness grows. Where true love is. And how time has no purpose in the spreading of love. With the harmony of it. Once it’s there, inside you it grows happily.
And the world is not interested. Our pitiless leaders show little favour to the welfare of our expectations. Or existence. I cannot understand why making the world more complicated, when we are just beginning to learn about each other, is such a commodity.
Or perhaps I can.
I fear for the future. More so because my children will spend more time in it than me.