The shelves are empty, are lined with dust 
of centuries gone by– 
we bury ourselves in knowledge of what was  
and what will be 
as each fresh apocalypse in our eye 
signifies the damage or partial loss 
to the earth; perhaps it is selfish,  
but on some level, we don’t give a shit  
and carry on, 
holding that no one in mortal sin  
could consecrate their lives to its betterment.  
It is both a speck of truth and falsehood. 

The chronicles date several follies; 
describes the haunting beauty of dark things, 
we know them  
as one does the back of his hand, 
we agonize, we atone, we set aside, 
but the one thing which we fail to do is recognize, 
sanguine daisies  
hanging limply around the room with 
the scent of ink in the air, 
it’s no wonder that dystopia is mere decades away. 

Outside the collective, we are browning leaves  
thinking this to be the new normal,
our voices soft,  
we sing of the sky and what is left behind. 
As a human collective, we are bursts of fire  
that occasionally blossom, 
only to be doused later by bouts of despair. 
The vulnerability of our soul  
lies beneath cream-colored psychological clothing. 

Which brings us back to the original subject, 
are we stronger as a collective voice? 
As someone who isn’t afraid of embracing chaos,
nor one who insists on being confined 

within the boundaries  
of one’s understanding, is it factual, can it be proved,  
repeated or observed? 
It would be ideal to think so, but for now  
let us focus on the libraries of the future 
if there is to be one, each fresh apocalypse  
in our eye, suggests otherwise. 





Photo credits: Pinterest 

Bjorn hosts at dVerse where he invites us to explore our collective and try our best
to set our thoughts into a voice of that collective. Come join us! ❤️

Posted for MTB: Writing from a collective point of view @dVerse Poets Pub