The Cable

by Megan Lok

The wires of life remain unstable,

But the powerline still feeds the cable.

From the littlest bugs to the tallest tree,

The energy flows through you and me.

Through smoke and death and all that burns,

The network of nature remains adjourned.

Retired axes still speak death,

No forest wields its final breath.

Why do we burn the forest of need?

When the wood we burn is what we read?

How selfish can one input really be?

When there’s nothing left, they’ll choose to flee.

The freedom stolen, their lives bagged,

Jokes at colours were all that stabbed.

“Freedom! -” Then bang!

No words were sang.

We were all once a race,

That of the same colour and face.

So why now are we divided?

Who was it that decided?

The ropes, the knives, the countless texts,

Lending a hand despite dangerous depths.

Even though the journey was tough,

Was a single text really enough?

Groups of species, organisms of variety,

Welcome to the world of society.

Protests of issues remain silenced,

In the end, was that police really licensed?

The help we receive may differ through breed,

But do we really get what we really need?

The jobs that we took for granted with the highest stakes,

Are we really willing to pay for those outbreaks?

We all rely on the same source,

The one that's said to might explode.

Can we share what has been bestowed?

Or are we stealing from another’s course?

There are a billion outputs to share.

Yet we struggle to share the same air.

But even after all we conspire.

The electricity bill will someday expire.