There’s a Thun in my side; It’s green, riddled, Great.
It punctures like a Berg to an unsinkable vessel.
Unsinkable, you say?
Yet, it punctured, flooded, fell.
Flooded in the past now only left to dwell.
There’s a Berg in my way, but it’s getting smaller.
The Thun comes unloose, like it was never even there.
Political, you say?
Like the turning of the tides.
The tides of March more like. A battle of the sides.
The Thun has torn a hole, and we’re watching it deflate.
The Berg has caused a whisper of diminishment and hate.
A floatation device, you say.
Yet, there’s not enough for everyone.
A floatation device for those who can pay, who have won.
Greta is the small who brings hope to a planet.
Small is the gesture but enormous is the result.
Hope is the Thun that sticks it to us.
Berg is the hope when the small, but Greta’s won.
Closure is unthinkable for a world that remains unsinkable
No comments:
Post a Comment