A poem #98 – Call it change

Put all of the offices at the bottom of the sea
one-thousand metres or more down,
they do nothing up here but spread our darkness
they know of no consequence, no bounds.

Put all of this triteness in a canning jar
and shake it vigorously around,
break up the monotony of this endless terror
where the notes disconnect from the sound.

Put all these tired, old problems aside
cut them into their objective parts,
these serve only to distance us from each other
to drive good people of the world apart.

Put all these learnt “differences” that drift aimlessly
together so they are no longer estranged,
weave them into a beautiful, vibrant cloth
and call it change:
call it change,
call it change.

JP Collins

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A poem #83 – Evolution

Think of the fauna
that cares not for our borders
nor for our local tongue.
This blood that’s been shed,
the things left unsaid –
all of man’s gains, undone.
What of the rights
to own both day and night –
are these spoils of war, really won?
Inheritance tax on our evolution,
we’re less comfortable in finding the solution
than we are in owning the gun.

JP Collins