It’s a tired time we’re living in,
A tired time indeed.
We’re on the verge of giving in
To gluttony and greed.
And we say that we are fighting,
Yet we haven’t changed a thing.
Nobody of their size will stoop
To hear the free birds sing.
And if we cannot fight the foremen,
We normalize instead.
I guess dying does seem normal
When everyone is dead.
It’s morning in Paris,
and the city still sleeps,
though the sun has long risen
and the cat has long been stretched in the light
that washes over the quiet courtyard.
It’s summer in Paris,
I wrote this for a Lord of the Flies creative project for school for which a prompt was to write about what would happen if it was girls on the island instead of boys.
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