Guilt is a pandemic,
always downing oneself over the uncontrollable.
It comes and goes in waves,
leaving traces of grief in its path.

There’s more than there used to be in those waves.
Chipping off into the melting Southern sea, rising,
touring the coast of Venice and littering Manhattan.
Even the sea creatures from nowhere don’t know where to go next.

I love the trees in my yard.
Especially mid Autumn when the leaves sway their warm toned ombre.
The deer knit together for warmth under the canopy of trees. That is until,
a foreign predator takes its march through the motherland in search of weak prey.

Not to worry, child.
We have sturdy concrete to build over the past.
Along with large ships and soldiers,
sound breaking planes and genocidal politicians.

From the shivering clans of deer in the forest,
to the overheating polar bears in the arctic.
To the innocent children in the middle east,
forever stuck on a loop searching for their parents.

A world away, a lifetime away, a mile away
won’t make a difference when the
flaming fog tumbles over the hills,
knocking down your front door.