Bounded Clay

Me and the world are holding on to peace like it's 1969

but really though

Like a nation at war we are tied

What a conceptual terror that is

Like a world at peace we are bound

This conception is more like my frizz

But it's not just all curly q's you see

It is cold when I breathe

Being pulled up by one

Being held down to the ground by a few strings

These red cords are made with powerful gazes, even stronger

commitments, plus the blood, sweat and tears of the clay.

When they fray like burnt nerves they writhe 

And then they're left to hang

On the side of mother earths round hips

The strings are cut swiftly and slowly

Like a commercial fishing net in the sea

Blindly they rage

They try to find purpose and catching their prey

With no restriction their frayed ends reach and seek and catch what's not theirs

Until it just becomes part of the way

The world works like this they say

And it is true the interdependence we face is wrapped up like tight redtape

Binding hands to money and money to culture

But it is all simpler than this too

The tethers can bind our compassion our empathy and our love

In spirals of endless patterns of the world in love is bound

This poem is about: 
Our world

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