Prism.

A gray sky keeps solace at bay;
keeps a peaceful soul from comfort.

The blue sky, in memory, brings a smile;
keeps happiness on a short leash.

A smoke-riddled horizon fills the heart with fear.
A tree-filled horizon brings memories, so clear.

A different view from a different world:
a different pair of shoes to fill.

Preach, jest, and command so many things
of those who know no better,
and to those who do not care at all,
without acting in the way of the words being said.
Acting just as selfish as anyone else,
just as useless as anyone else.

A poor soul, pouring time down
a dark hole, watching it run all the way down.

A gray sky calls the kettle black,
pushes the mind over the edge
with no hope of coming back.

A blue sky calls the kettle clear,
pulls the mind back to safety,
whispering, "There is nothing to fear."

A world torn apart by nature;
a world torn apart by nurture.

We are the latter of the two creatures.
A world full of consumers.

Why bat an eyelash when there is something to buy?
Something to save up for?
A job to go to?

Why pay attention when its hard to afford survival?
Hard to believe the Bible?
Hard to keep the eyes closed?

Why give up what is yours when its the fittest fighting for survival?
When the money stays in your homes?
When you steal from those who rebel?

Why give optimism when your world is just a prison?
Just a routine of wakefulness and sleeping?
Just a solid life of taking?

A world torn apart by nature;
a world torn apart by structure:
worlds torn apart by disasters.