Self-referential #6

 I am so sick of all of it.

The corruption,  the lies, the statistics. 

I once was able to warn allegorically 

but now I state baldly, in fact; categorically 

That dystopian nightmare has crossed to our waking.

We're inside a hellscape of our own creation.

Cassandra I, scribed. The Mistress of Mince.

High on a hill girt by oceans of ink.

Foretelling it all in bouquets of verse

presented with the flourish of the under-rehearsed.

For now the flourishes will wait.

I'm overwhelmed and overweight 

and spending all my energy 

on the one who means the most to me. 

Hermitage and happiness go hand in hand. 

Watch my tail feather shake as I stick my ostrich head in the ground

It's more important to make memories.

Too late to warn of the future. 

Dear World

Look, we need to have a chat.

I’m getting a bit fed up

with dealing with the fall out

of your drama.

And it’s not only that,

my son keeps waking up

crying, calling my name out.

I’m trying to teach him about karma.

You see, he’s noticed (as have I)

that the bad guys keep winning.

Every time I leave the house

without him he cries.

I don’t want to raise a fearful child.

and his awareness is just beginning

but with news of more killings day in, day out

he’s convinced I’m going to die.

Not helped when I say

“Well, one day, I will”

through desire to tell him the truth.

So he says “But not today?”

And I’m swept over ill

tempting fate to give me liar’s proof.

So look, World I’m asking

you to buck your ideas up.

I love to share in positives

and I’m sick of masking

cracked ideals in cover ups.

Show them you get back what you give.

Sincerely,

Georgia. Xxxx