the return of the frugal

what have we done
to the world
it had lost its strength,
tonsured, butchered,
bombed

sad that the world
had left the world

but there was a time
we’d drink water 
from the stream,
go out to take some
fresh air, sans care
the sky would fall
in love with the earth
without a doubt,
the fire would burn
to heal, the cattle would 
graze on the green

the feet would travel 
all around, as a wanderer,
or a loner in all the places
we don’t even dare to
venture anymore

we have made life
difficult for us
onerous,
complicated

yet we are jutting out
ceaselessly, there is
no contemplation,
no atonement, only glory
for things of which
we need to be ashamed

I am disoriented,
no power to decorate
the verse with chosen
words, the writers of
tomorrow might

when the world would
return to the world