In the Palm of Our Hand

A poem of exasperation.

Photo by Nsey Benajah on Unsplash

We have love.
We make war.

We have forgiveness.
We seek revenge.

We have nature.
We build skyscrapers.

We have intimacy.
We prefer porn.

We have touch.
We crave our device.

We have warmth.
We create distance.

We have moments.
We want more time.

We have chances.
We ignore our conscience.

We have anything.
We desire something else.

We feel nothing.
We wonder why.