A Beautiful Place

The world is a beautiful place.

It’s made up of every color,

Painted by the hand of an expert,

Modeled into a sculpture that puts

The galaxy to shame.

The world is a beautiful place.

Ruined by the hands of amateur artists,

Destroyed by us,

Repainted by us,

But we will never have the skill to

Make it beautiful again.

We can try to recreate,

We can fool ourselves into believing

It’s more beautiful than the original,

But all we can make are cheap imitations,

Sculptures once broken,

Will never be the same.

We tear down the beauty of this land,

We build up with metal,

Create out of destruction.

The world used to be full of green,

Colors and creatures used to thrive,

The world,

Once,

Was so alive you could feel the beat

Of its heart pounding up through your

Feet,

Releasing into your soul.

The world doesn’t have that

Energy anymore,

Instead of singing,

It wheezes,

Suffocating on the very ‘art’

Us amateurs created.

We shove our sculptures down

The worlds throat,

Begging for praise,

Validation,

But get only a dying breath

From the land we slowly kill,

But we will not stop until the world

Gives us recognition for our work,

Until the world stops coughing on us,

Until it finally looks at the artist and

Once again,

Sings her praise,

As if the world were our mother.

And maybe,

Someday,

One of the artists will realize we are

Destroying this world we cherish,

And maybe someday,

An artist will rebuild,

And remake

What all us amateurs Once took away.

Maybe the world will

Be a beautiful place.