Is there anything
emptier than words without a pen?
than a heart without a home?
than an Earth without a star
to say, “we can try again”
on another world
with better machines
evolution is always
like an experiment with time
a species has to mature
in the short time it is given
or die trying, that’s us
always at the brink
without fully realizing it
my drawer is like a rat lair
full of the dreams of humanity
but can history say
we truly loved our world?