a poem for the good people.

The good folks
shake their heads and deeply sigh
another year
passing by, why celebrate? why?
war and hate
the good folks
sitting alone, all their relatives deranged
estranged ..

The good folks
know the light is fading fast in corridors and paths
the forest falling to the axe
profits to the max, and the ocean drowns
in itself with plastic
we throw (The good folks know)

The good folks
will say they are close to walking away from family
and callous corporate cartels
they smell the decay
but hope, that ever-dwindling candle flame
holds them in this game.

Chris 2025