Mechanics of the air, flowing through generations unimpaired,
Unlike the human, worst species on the planet.
Young minds smashed, obliterated, who’s going to mend it?
Not the mature, the wise, sad to say they, diffuse it.
Old minds incarcerated, by the sudden change in technological tides.
The inexperienced with too much expectation, can’t help.
The soul is capable of thought, as the great hawk sees.
Unfortunately, souls embezzled, now caring of one and currency.
Divides between societies, space grows like mental health’s peak.
Distances between the not so mighty human, used to cry me to sleep.
Judgment, legal arms, provided to the inhumane, human beings.
Put down the weapons of thought, ask for those of love.
If the so-called norm if threatened, where are we going to run?
Ironically, to each other, when natural thoughts start to come.
By Ellis Robinson
Work of Unchained Wisdom ©