My poem

What’s the price of power? We stockpile and stockpile till all we have is weapons that sit there, enough weapons to end human life. Do we expect to use them? We sleep on our nukes, lay our head on the grenades and cuddle the rifle and we feel safe. Like a kid with his teddy bear. What happens when our bed turns on us? Who do we blame for our demise? It was him! It was her! It was them! They don’t talk either because they died in their sleep as well. We don’t notice it but we don’t live on a planet anymore, we live on a bomb, but we don’t care because they hide it from us. “They won’t use it” we say, there’s no need to. Then why have it? We walk around too absorbed in our own lives till a shot is fired at the wrong people. Then our lives become a hellish storm… what’s our future? A cinder floating in space. The end of a violent race.